


1 de3ire : 2 be n0rm4l

by shionch



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Background Character Death, Drama & Romance, M/M, Not a PWP, background Angela/Shayla, crack elements, no Dark Army AU, no Five-Nine hack AU, plot stuff happens (slowly), weird kinky stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shionch/pseuds/shionch
Summary: AU. Elliot leads a normal life. He wants to be normal. But he also keeps dreaming about a man he definitely doesn't want to fall in love with... until he does, and everything changes.





	1. Cotton Candy Dreams

Another night, another dream. Once again, about Tyrell Wellick.

They’d met what, twice? If the first time even counted. Did one-sided conversations count? Elliot could never tell. It was an odd experience, with Tyrell doing most of the talking; Elliot tried to look insignificant, to avoid attention, and yet — Tyrell swooped right in, singled him out amongst a dozen other employees. He said something about desktop environments, some bullshit — Lloyd was sitting right there, and he was running Linux too; most Allsafe employees did. Yet, for some reason, Tyrell had introduced himself to Elliot and nobody else. Then he smiled and stressed the word _hard_ , eyeing Elliot up and down.

He was wearing a wedding band on his left hand’s ring finger.

But he offered Eliot his right hand.

A handshake. A simple act between two people: I see you, I recognize you, let’s talk and get to know each other for what we really are. No different than a client connecting with a server. It all relied on that first handshake and naturally grew from there... for most people.

For Elliot? He hated being touched by strangers.

A handshake. A negotiation for partnership.

He took Tyrell’s hand. It was clean and smooth, lukewarm, not ice-cold as Elliot had expected; the touch was brief and dry. A momentary connection, just enough to generate a session key.

To remember.

He held Tyrell’s hand. It was... okay.

And then it wasn’t. Because, that night, he had the first dream.

In that dream, Tyrell’s hands were warmer, in that dream his hands cupped Elliot’s face as Tyrell looked him in the eyes... as Tyrell leaned in, his breath — warm, too — tickled Elliot’s neck... and then Tyrell whispered something in his ear, but Elliot couldn’t make out what he said, as if Tyrell was speaking a foreign language. Maybe he was, or maybe it was Elliot’s brain messing with him. Again.

That night, however, Elliot woke up drenched in sweat. Not cold — boiling, vaporizing hot sweat, and the anxious, agonizing pressure tied into knots inside his lower abdomen.

That night, he curled up in a corner and cried, and he couldn’t even tell why he felt so miserable.

The very next day, Tyrell sought him out again, and again blabbered some nonsense about how borderline illegal it was for them to so much as talk. If his mind was less preoccupied with fear of Tyrell _touching_ him again, making him crave that touch only to wake up alone, Elliot would have asked why Tyrell even bothered to go through such trouble, risk his own career to see plain simple Elliot — a nobody he’d just met yesterday.

But Elliot remembered his dream. And he wondered if, perhaps, Tyrell had a dream of his own, starring him. Them.

_Touching._

It scared Elliot. Tyrell with his hands and his smiles and his promises, he was ruining — and with such ease — the perfect maze Elliot had created for himself. It wasn’t his normal behavior, to allow someone get this close. It was a bug, what he felt for Tyrell, it was an error.

He wanted to be normal. And he definitely didn’t want to work for E Corp. Evil Corp. Whatever. He wanted nothing to do with it, and with Tyrell.

Except, the dreams wouldn’t go away.

Tonight he dreamt about their second meeting.

In this dream, no lawyers were present. It was just him and Tyrell, and some red fruits in a bowl on the table. At first, the fruits looked like apples, but then Tyrell took one and offered it to Elliot, and it wasn’t a fruit at all — it was a tomato. And Elliot bit into it, tasting the offering, juices dripping all over his chin, and Tyrell laughed. Then Tyrell kissed him, licking off the mess, until Elliot realized it was blood. His blood. And Tyrell was biting into him, only it didn’t hurt. In fact, it made him feel ecstatic, and when Tyrell stopped — Elliot begged him to continue.

Dreams. They were weird like that.

It’s not like Elliot _liked_ Tyrell. Why would he? The guy was positively obnoxious, arrogant, so full of himself he had no place for anyone or anything else inside his stale regimen of styled hair, tasteless neckties, and empty ambitions. A cold, heartless liar. Despicable.

But for some reason Elliot couldn’t hate him either, couldn’t brush him off, couldn’t stop thinking about him.

An executive running Linux. Catching his thoughts before Elliot could finish them.

Maybe, he wondered, it was just a mask. Maybe the real Tyrell was the one who’d offered him a hand, the one who’d been grinning happily when Elliot listened to him babble about operating systems, the one who’d whispered: _“I want you to be... here, with me”_.

Whatever. It was just a fantasy. Never to be.

 

 

Another morning, another day of work.

Elliot got up early, unable to sleep. He shaved, took a shower, had breakfast — instant oatmeal and coffee. The usual.

Today, like any other day, was the same routine struggle. Get to the office he hated, work on something boring he despised. Earn money to survive; survive to earn money. Running in circles for the sake of running. He might as well have been brain-dead. A zombie. A robot programmed to perform one task. A cog in the machine, a brick in the wall.

The world could go on without him.

Angela greeted him first when he arrived to the office.

“Elliot! Here you are,” she smiled at him. A good, well-meaning smile. Friendly. “Do you want to grab lunch together this afternoon? Ollie insists.”

Yes, Ollie. Her douche boyfriend. Not that Elliot hated him or anything, but the guy was the textbook example of careless ignorance. Or blissfully ignorant happiness. So normal it was almost disgusting, normal to the point of mediocrity, he was indistinguishable from thousands of other late twenties white collar office workers. Greed, but no real ambition, no drive; surfing through life seeking easy pleasure. Normal. Normal.

Sometimes Elliot wished he could be normal, too.

“Not today. I have plans.”

“What plans?” Angela raised an eyebrow.

“Just... plans.” No, she wasn't going to buy that. “I promised Shayla I would walk her dog with her.”

“Oh.” Angela blinked. “Ok then. Good luck.”

It worked. She backed off. Not that Elliot wanted her gone for good, just — he had no energy to spend on her and her menial man today. Today, he didn't want to fake being social and amicable.

The lie meant he’d have to take a walk for lunch, but it was not the worst possible outcome of that conversation. In fact, he could use some fresh air.

Then there was Lloyd.

“Yo, man, who’s Shayla?”

Normally, Lloyd didn’t ask these things. That’s why Elliot liked him — Lloyd was the perfect coworker: they greeted each other at the beginning of the day, said goodbye before going home, and that was it. There was a quiet understanding, a social contract: don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.

“My sister.”

Elliot was uncertain why he lied. It was a habit at this point; an automatic response. To lie. To reveal nothing, even to the people he liked. It was probably a defence mechanism of some kind, this firewall of lies, an instinct to hide because anything he said might be used against him.

Maybe he should mention it to Krista on their next session. Then again... maybe not.

Sometimes Elliot wished he truly was an emotionless robot.

“Huh. You know, I have a sister too. Rose, her name is, Rose White. She’s my cousin, actually, but her parents died when she was young, so she’d lived with us.”

Elliot made a non-committal sound of acknowledgement.

“She asked me about you,” Lloyd shifted uncomfortably. He obviously didn't like this conversation either. “She saw you on the group photo a few days ago, and now she won’t stop asking me if you’re single. Can I just tell her you have a girlfriend already? I mean. Do you? Have... anyone?”

Elliot stared at the lobe of Lloyd’s left ear. Almost like looking him in the eyes, except for all the soul-exposure. But seriously, did Lloyd just ask him that? Was this conversation appropriate for workplace chatter?

“Yeah, you’re right. Stupid question,” after a moment of awkward silence Elliot didn’t know how to interrupt, Lloyd finally looked away. “Sorry. I won’t bother you again.”

He turned back to his computer, and so did Elliot.

Still, the encounter left a weird metallic taste in his mouth, as if the mere thought of someone developing an interest in him — a _romantic_ interest? — over a single photo, no less... made him sick to his stomach.

Was it sick to be uninterested in a beautiful woman? He’d seen the family photo Lloyd kept at his desk. Rose White was there, a beautiful woman, if only a few years older than Elliot. But not by much. Anyone should be flattered to get her attention.

Maybe he was sick.

He thought about Tyrell again. Tyrell’s hands and his pink lively mouth, his bright eyes. Tyrell’s interest had a different effect on Elliot. It made him feel uneasy, yes, tense, skin tingling, insides aflame; panicked, perhaps, but — not sick.

Did he... want this? Did he want Tyrell?

No.

10:30 AM. Elliot really should start getting some work done.

 

 

Early in the afternoon, Gideon’s boyfriend came by to take him out for lunch. He kissed Gideon’s cheek and held his hand, and everything. Angela said hi to him. Elliot didn’t remember his name. Harry? Gary? Jerry? Usually, he was better with remembering names. Gideon seemed quiet and bashful when they left.

“Happy couple,” Lloyd commented. “Bless.”

Elliot said nothing.

 

 

At 1:00 PM precisely, Elliot stood up from his chair and headed out, as he’d mentioned, to maintain his story.

He was planning to buy a coffee and a hot-dog from the nearest junk food stand at the corner, then sit on a bench in the nearest park. But once he’d started walking, he didn’t feel like stopping; he wasn’t all that hungry either.

So he just walked. Forward.

It was nice to get away from the office, even if the sky was iron-gray and cloudy, threatening rain. Elliot pulled on the hood of his hoodie, just in case, and walked. And walked, and walked, and walked...

Then, out of the blue, he found himself in front of the E Corp building.

He didn’t know how he’d got there, or when. The clock said 1:23 PM, that’s about twenty minutes of blank space in his mind. What happened? Another memory loss? Wouldn’t be the first time. But why now? And why here?

Did it mean his old mentor-tormentor was going to come back..?

Shit. He’s in the parking lot. A big black car just parked. He should leave before someone complains he’s taking space.

Wait. The car... Elliot remembered that car.

Shit. _Tyrell._

Tyrell Wellick, in flesh and blood, and silver grey suit. Impeccable. Shiny like a sharpened piece of glass under the light, like a fresh-issued coin. Electric.

Elliot hated random encounters. He never knew whether or not he should acknowledge the other person, or what should he even say.

Should he greet him? How? What for? Should he nod and walk on by? That would be sensible. But Tyrell wasn’t _sensible_ , was he? What would he want if Elliot approached him, another handshake? Shit, considering how touchy-feely he’d been the last time, he might even go for a hug. That would be crazy. Batshit insane. Right?

Why did Elliot even care what Tyrell wanted.

After the whole “job offer” fiasco, he felt like there was some kind of unsettled debt between the two of them, and the worst part was Elliot couldn’t tell who owed whom, or what.

And why was Elliot _here_ in the first place? Was this encounter truly random? He had Tyrell’s number, and he blanked out for twenty minutes, and then he was in the parking lot just at the right time to see Tyrell stepping out of the car? This couldn’t have been a coincidence. Or could it? Was Elliot just paranoid again, was he having another episode..?

Fuck. Being unable to trust his own self was the worst.

“Elliot?”

Shit. Tyrell spotted him.

“Elliot! Fancy meeting you here,” Tyrell smiled as he approached Elliot. Then, it was a coincidence after all. That’s... a relief. “What are you doing here? Have you reconsidered my offer?”

“No.” Think, think. Shit. He was so close now, and his aftershave smelled nice. Fuck. “I was just. Looking for a place to eat.”

Tyrell laughed.

“What a coincidence, I was just about to grab a bite as well. Do you want to join me for lunch? There is a nice place nearby I think you might like.”

No. No, he definitely did not want to join Tyrell for lunch or anything else. Did he? No.

“Sure,” a ball of fire in his throat, that’s his heart beating. A wild bird trapped in an oven, alive, burning, breaking. “I... eat lunch.”

Why. Why did he say that? He didn’t want this. He wanted to be normal. Like Ollie? Would it be easier to want Angela, to sleep with her and cheat on her, and then propose to her and marry her, and wear a wedding band on his left hand like Tyrell? Tyrell. Was he normal? Was any of this?

“I’m glad,” Tyrell put a hand his shoulder, and Elliot was ready to jump out of his own skin. But he remained perfectly still and met Tyrell’s eyes instead; he held his gaze, just as Tyrell was holding his. “Thank you, Elliot.”

“I have about half an hour. Let’s go.”

He said that. He urged Tyrell to go with him. Why?

Why couldn’t he... just... be... normal?

 

 

“I have to say, Elliot, you have been awfully quiet. What’s on your mind? Don’t be shy now, I want to hear your thoughts.”

A table by the window. They were sitting there, separated from the other tables by a fake liquor display; the ceiling was black, and the music was loud enough to be annoying. Almost.

This place was definitely a bar, although with a scarce selection of food as well.

Tyrell had ordered some fancy tea mix for himself. Elliot went with a mug of plain black coffee. He considered the prices outrageous, but Tyrell insisted it was his treat.

And now, apparently, Tyrell wanted to discuss security measures.

“I don’t think we should discuss these things in a public place,” Elliot said.

Immediately, Tyrell smiled at him.

“Oh, I would love to have a discussion somewhere more private! In fact, Elliot, I was hoping you might suggest that.”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Elliot said.

He regretted accepting Tyrell’s invitation already. He regretted it the moment he accepted it, and he definitely regretted it now that Tyrell started leaning in, his hand resting on the table dangerously close to Elliot’s.

Should he excuse himself to the bathroom, then bolt? Run off. Pretend this didn’t happen. Pretend he didn’t see the hope in Tyrell’s eyes, pretend his own attention wasn’t drawn to Tyrell’s mouth. That he didn’t feel shaken and frozen and electrified just thinking about it, about how easy it would have been to move just an inch closer, and then...

Would it help? To ignore the problem?

“You’re very professional, I’ll give you that,” once again, Tyrell smiled. Elliot couldn’t look away. “But you have nothing to fear from me, Elliot, I assure you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” he lied. Or was it the truth?

Odd, Elliot realized suddenly, it was true. In a manner of speaking. He wasn’t afraid of Tyrell, wasn’t afraid of Tyrell hurting him — physically or otherwise. Rather, there was another fear, a panic grabbing at his throat, his heart; that anxious tension, that... anticipation.

Tyrell wanted _something_ from him. And Elliot was afraid of finding out _what_. Even though he knew already.

Since when was he scared of the truth? Was he always?

“Elliot.” Tyrell took his hand. Elliot stared at their point of connection as he tried not to shiver. Not too much, anyway. “I am so glad you have decided to join me today. I wish we had more opportunities to work together.”

“Is that all you think about? Work?”

Elliot didn’t move, didn’t look up to meet Tyrell’s eyes.

Instead, Tyrell was the one to flinch, flustered, and to lean back and remove his hand from atop of Elliot’s.

“I would... very much like to discuss whatever you have in mind,” Tyrell was just as tense now. Good. “Be it work or other matters.”

“I don’t think about work during lunchtime,” it was a personal confession. More than he should have shared, especially with this man. But... he wanted to. “It’s my power-saving mode. Constant calculations drain the battery.”

It was possibly the most awkward joke in the history of ever, but Tyrell laughed, softly — with mirth, not mockery.

“Well, we don’t want you to burn out before your time, do we,” he said. “So... what do you suggest we talk about, if not work? What do you do in your spare time? I must confess, I have been wondering about that since our first meeting. You intrigue me, Elliot.”

“Why?” it was all Elliot could say, his voice suddenly hoarse.

Tyrell laughed again, but this time it sounded awkward, embarrassed. Caught in the act.

“You are an intriguing person, Elliot Alderson.”

“That’s it, then? _It’s not you, it’s me?_ Some intriguing quality of mine drives you crazy, and you can’t stop thinking about it because nobody can, because that’s just how _intriguing_ I am, and it isn’t your fault, it has nothing to do with you? It’s just my intrinsic ability to intrigue?”

“...Elliot?”

Shit. Right. He spaced out again. Good, at least he didn’t say all that stuff out loud.

“...I need to use the bathroom.”

“Elliot, wait.” Tyrell grabbed his wrist, and Elliot froze in place halfway up from his chair. “Have I offended you? Tell me. What is it? Is it something I’ve said? Please, tell me. Don't run away.”

Fuck.

“You weird me out, man.”

Tyrell took in a sharp breath, his spry pink mouth open aghast. Hurt. He let go of Elliot’s wrist.

“My apologies. There must have been... a misunderstanding.”

The hand he’d used to hold Elliot was the left one. The one with the wedding ring, its golden glint bright and visible, glaring, obvious.

“You’re married.” Elliot said.

Was it out of nowhere, or was it obvious too? Was he as obvious as Tyrell? Was this really just a misunderstanding?

“Is that what bothers you?” Tyrell straightened up at once, as if a spring snapped inside him. “Why? We’re just talking.”

“Are we?”

He knew, and Tyrell knew. Elliot looked him in the eyes, and they both knew.

Because Tyrell had the decency to look down.

“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Tyrell said. “What I want is... well. I’m happy just talking to you. I’m not asking for more, unless, of course, you’re offering.”

“And if I was? Would you take off your ring and pretend she doesn’t exist?” like Ollie, going behind Angela’s back. “Is that what normal people do? Pretend?”

“No.” Tyrell actually dared to look serious. “I don’t want to pretend with you, Elliot.”

“Then don’t.”

Tyrell sighed.

“What do you want me to say, Elliot? That I feel drawn to you? I do. That I can’t stop thinking about you? I can, but I don’t want to. I like you, and I want to spend time with you. Is this such a crime in your book?”

Elliot stared silently. What Tyrell said... that’s not how people acted when their offers of friendship was rejected. Right? So, he was right.

Tyrell wanted him. Which meant, Tyrell lied to him.

“I don’t have time for this, man.” Elliot finally stood up. “Thanks for the coffee, but I have to get back to work.”

Tyrell’s face fell in an instant. Still, he recovered quickly with a semblance of dignity.

“Of course. I’d hate to keep you from your work.” Tyrell even managed to smile, however pathetic and trembling with hidden dismay. A carefully crafted facade, crumbling. “It was good to see you, Elliot.”

Normally, Elliot wouldn’t reply to such trivial insincere niceties. Normally, he’d put on his hood and leave without another word.

But he couldn’t, not now. Not after Tyrell’s brutal honesty mixed up with hasty outrageous lies.

This strange man had a strange effect on him, and Elliot couldn’t leave him, not like that.

_I can, but I don’t want to._

“See you... again?” Elliot offered quietly. “For another lunch. Some time. Perhaps. If you still want to... talk.”

And just like that, Tyrell’s eyes lit up again.

“Tomorrow?”

Elliot shook his head — no, too soon.

“Next week?” Tyrell tried again. Reluctantly, Elliot nodded, and Tyrell grinned. “Will you give me a call? Whenever you’re ready. You do have my number, right?”

“Sure,” Elliot said.

“I’m very happy. Thank you, Elliot.”

Tyrell stood up to shake his hand, but Elliot quickly stepped back.

“See you around,” he said. “Later!”

And then he fled, sprinted the fuck off and out of there, away from that man, from his freakishly strong but smooth hands and his seductive pink mouth, and his cold clean scent, and his dishonest honesty.

He didn’t stop running till he was back at Allsafe.

All safe.

 

 

“How was your walk?” Angela asked him.

It was almost 7 PM, the end of the work day. She was about to leave and she stopped by to say goodbye. And to ask him questions, apparently.

“Fine.” Elliot didn’t look at her. “We... walked.”

“I like Shayla,” Angela said.

Elliot nodded.

“She’s okay.”

“Just okay?” Angela smiled. “Maybe you should do those _walks_ more often.”

“Maybe.”

With a chuckle, Angela waved him goodbye.

“See you tomorrow, Elliot.”

And then she turned around and left, holding the hand of the man who’d been cheating on her. The man who also waved goodbye to Elliot — but Elliot chose to ignore it. That Ollie with his “ _let’s chill, just the two of us_ ” and his _friendly_ touches and his dirty glances, was that normal too? Fuck him.

Well, Angela always had a terrible taste in men. And as far as Ollie went, he was just an idiot who couldn’t keep it in his pants. She could have done worse.

But... was Elliot really in any position to judge? He’d agreed to have lunch with a married man. A man he knew was going to become a father soon, because he’d hacked that man, he’d seen the photos of that man’s wife — his pregnant wife whom Tyrell loved so much he was using her maiden name as his password.

Elliot saw everything, their happy family, her emails asking him to buy some kale, his heart-eyes comments on her photos.

And nevertheless, he didn’t just agree to meet again — he proposed it. He _offered._

Just talking. Yeah, right.

Was he, in all honesty, any better than Ollie..?

 

 

Another evening, another lonesome dinner — microwave-heated takeout — in front of the fishbowl with Qwerty trapped inside, quietly swimming in circles.

Tomorrow was going to be Friday. Then, the weekend.

Maybe Elliot should call Darlene. Inviting his sister back into his life was probably not the best idea, considering how they destabilized each other’s psyche, but... sometimes Elliot missed her. He really did.

Sunday, he was going to have an appointment with Krista. Court-ordered, sure, but Elliot liked seeing her. Even though he didn’t really talk about anything that mattered, it was nice to have something. Somewhere to be. Someone to talk to.

A way out of loneliness.

Did he want to see Tyrell because of that, too? Just a distraction. Was he trying to destroy a man’s family because he was bored? Did he want Tyrell simply because Tyrell was the only one who wanted him back?

No. He shouldn’t call Tyrell. Not next week, not ever.

He shouldn’t call Darlene either.

He should feed Qwerty, brush his teeth, then go to bed. And sleep without dreams.

Be normal.

 

 

Elliot opened his eyes, and there was a strange man in front of him. Also, they were taking a Ferris wheel ride.

What?

“Heya, kiddo,” the stranger smirked at him, and suddenly Elliot recognized him. “How d’ya feel?”

“You again,” Elliot sighed. “How long has it been? I thought I was done with you.”

“Yeah, well. I’d say I was sorry to disappoint,” Mr. Robot shrugged, “but I'm not.”

And he smiled, smug and annoyingly sweet. Gloating.

Elliot rolled his eyes.

“Go away. I don’t want to see you.”

“Obviously, you do, or I wouldn’t be here.”

Elliot sighed again. There was a time he’d hated his hallucinations. Now? Mostly, he was just tired.

“Why did you take me here?” he asked.

“Why not? Aren’t you bored being stuck in that shithole of an apartment all the time?”

“...I need to get to work.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I called in sick. Which, by the way, you are, since you’re seeing me.”

True enough.

“What do you want?”

That seemed to amuse Mr. Robot — he laughed. A short, curt, throaty laugh, not entirely unkind but still unpleasant.

“It ain’t about me!” he declared with a dramatic gesture. “This is about what _you_ want. This is why I exist, remember? To remind you.”

“Remind me of what?”

“Of things that make your life worth living! When was the last time you went out anywhere but that boring and, frankly, dreadful office of yours? Huh?”

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday! That’s right! And it felt good, didn’t it?”

“Not really.”

“Come on, son. Don’t lie to me. I was there. I saw everything, I felt everything... and then some. You repress a lot, you know that? Although, I should probably thank you for that. If it weren’t for your repressed feelings, I wouldn’t exist. The moment you accept me, I’m gone. Kind of poetic, isn’t it? Now... what do you want to do today? I could go for some cotton candy. Are you up for some cotton candy? Or do you have something else _sweet_ and _pink_ on your mind?”

Mr. Robot had the audacity to wink at him. Cringeworthy.

Elliot felt a shiver creep down his spine, and not the good kind at that.

“Don’t.”

“C’mon, son. I know what's on your mind. I _am_ you, after all. I know what you think, what you want...”

“Shut up, man!”

“...and you want to sing-song with the looney tunes. I get it,” Mr. Robot ignored his protests, as usual. “Hey, to be honest, if it were up to me — I’d bang him a month ago.”

Elliot looked away, trying to take in the view. The city below, the sky above. Everything was blue and grey.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked quietly. “If you were there. Why did you only show up now?”

“Oh, you know, I had to let you try on your own first. Besides, I’d never betray your trust like that!” Mr. Robot grinned, and Elliot knew better than to believe him. “It’s now that you’re failing, I’m here to help. I’m here to stop your little self-sabotage. Got it, son? Go on. Let’s call the cotton candy mouth boy.”

“No. No way.” Elliot shook his head. “He works for Evil Corp. He has a wife. I want nothing to do with him.”

“Right.” Mr. Robot scoffed. “Also, the sky is red and fire is cold.”

“It can be...”

“Don't argue semantics with me!” Mr. Robot yelled as he lunged forward suddenly. “Listen here, kiddo. I want him, which means _you_ want him. It’s just how it works, you and I. And we both know he wants us.”

“Us? He doesn’t know you exist.”

“Oh, sorry, was I supposed to wait for an official introduction before popping a boner? Too late.” Mr. Robot shrugged, and Elliot cringed again. Why was his subconscious such a... rude, primitive, animalistic jerk. “Hey! I can hear your thoughts, you know.”

_Fuck you._

“Nuh-uh. Not me. Him.”

“Leave me alone, man. I’m not in the mood for your games.”

Mr. Robot eyed him up and down, then nodded.

“Yeah, you look like shit. I forgot to take a shower this morning. Or brush your teeth, for that matter... You’re right, we’re no good for fun and games today. Go clean yourself up. See ya.”

Elliot blinked, and there — Mr. Robot was gone. Just as their cabin was down.

Convenient.

He stepped out of the cabin. Coney Island... no, Elliot really wasn’t in the mood for games and arcades today. If Mr. Robot was right about one thing, it was him needing a shower.

 

 

He took a subway ride back home, to his apartment, where he cleaned himself up.

Part of him was hesitant to step out of the shower — he was afraid he’d see Mr. Robot again. But no; the pesky hallucination was nowhere to be seen. Elliot was alone, just as he’d said he wanted to be.

It’s been three years since he’d seen Mr. Robot the last time. Ever since he’d moved to the city and cut all contact with his mother, Darlene, and everyone else from his old life... there was nothing. Not a whiff, word, or hint.

But now Mr. Robot was back. Why? Was it because Elliot had started working with Angela? She was a connection to his past, after all, another segment in the URI path redirecting him back and ultimately leading to madness-dot-com.

Why would Mr. Robot fixate on Tyrell, though? Usually, he wasn’t interested in specific people, he just raved on and on about corporate greed, human cruelty and indifference, and the system. He’d never discussed Elliot’s intimate life in such detail either — sure, he’d made an occasional comment, but seldom. And never with such... fervor.

Elliot was used to thinking of Mr. Robot as a goofy lunatic with a grudge against authority, not a fucking matchmaker.

 _Cotton candy mouth._ What bullshit was he on? Elliot didn’t even like cotton candy.

 

 

A knock on the door interrupted his thought process. Elliot got up to open the door.

It was Shayla.

“Hey,” she held her dog, Flipper, in her arms. Elliot always liked that dog, that small fluffy ball of black fur, with curious beady eyes. Flipper was cool. “I heard you coming back. Is everything ok? Did something happen to you at work?”

“No,” Elliot said. “I’m taking a day off. I’ve got this... headache.”

“Oh.” Shayla gently ruffled Flipper’s fluff. “Well... We’re heading out for a walk. Do you want to come? Fresh air might help you clear your head.”

“Fresh air, in this city?”

Shayla laughed.

“You know what I mean.”

Elliot considered her offer. It would have made sense to accept it, wouldn’t it? He’d lied to Angela about taking a walk with Shayla, and now he was offered an opportunity to turn that “false” into a “true”. A logical complement.

He should do it. He should say yes.

“Thanks, but I need to lie down. Maybe some other time.”

Shayla nodded. There was disappointment in the corners of her mouth, but she nodded. She understood.

“Alright. Get some rest.”

“Have a nice walk,” Elliot said.

Flipper yipped with excitement at the last word, and Shayla smiled.

“Yeah. See you.”

With that, they left.

As Elliot locked the door, he wondered if Shayla liked him. She was the perfect girl next door: a waitress with a cool dog, she sewed most of her outfits herself, and she had the most gentle smile Elliot had ever seen.

He saw her kissing a girl once.

Sometimes Elliot wondered if Shayla wanted to be normal, too. They had thin walls, and sometimes — not often, but sometimes — late at night, he could hear muffled sobbing coming from her apartment. He wondered if she was as lonely with her dog as Elliot was with his fish; if, maybe, it would have been easier for them to reach out to one another, if he should tell her she wasn’t alone, didn’t have to be alone, and if maybe, maybe — they could be normal.

Maybe they could be normal _together_.

But he never reached out, never told her anything, and neither did she. Even though she probably occasionally heard him cry too.

Maybe they wanted different kinds of normalcy.

 

 

Angela texted him in the afternoon.

“Gideon said you called in sick. Does it mean you won’t be at the party?”

The party? Allsafe had two annual corporate parties, one before the winter holidays (which obviously wasn’t the case), and the other — Gideon’s birthday, which was also the company’s birthday. When was it, again? It couldn’t have been tonight. Could it?

“E Corp has finally signed off the contract. All the paperwork is in. We’re having a celebration, and their vice CTO is supposed to be there.”

What?

“Will you come? Gideon’s freaking out.”

That was unexpected. Although, Elliot didn’t really listen to workplace chatter much. They could have been planning this for a month, and he’d be none the wiser.

Did Angela say that _E Corp’s vice CTO_ was going to be there?

Yes. She did.

“I have the flu.” Elliot texted Angela back.

“So you didn’t just say that to get out of the party? We could really use you here, Elliot.”

He decided not to reply.

“Sorry.” Angela texted him a minute later. Elliot didn’t reply to that either.

Instead, Elliot set up the torrent for downloading the _Careful Massacre_ rip, and went to the kitchenette to make some popcorn.

Unlike _cotton candy,_ he loved popcorn.

 

* * *

 

Johanna was smiling in her sleep, and her face looked serene in the morning light. It was the first thing Tyrell saw when he opened his eyes, and then the sunlight hit him, making him blink helplessly against the scorching, blinding beam of white.

What a wonderful way to start the day.

He got up and, after his usual morning workout, took a shower.

Johanna, awake by then, was having breakfast in the kitchen. Tyrell walked up to her and kissed her cheek.

“Good morning,” he murmured, kissing her again behind the ear.

“Morning.” Johanna replied, calm and unfazed, collected as usual. His affection slid off her like water off a wax candle.

Tyrell frowned. As much as he loved his wife — and he did love her, her strength and her iron will, her loyalty and ambition — sometimes he wished the lioness would purr like a kitten. But he rarely could please her enough, and certainly not with his sloppy affection. He had to be careful; one too many kisses, and she would warn him not to slobber all over her clothes like an untrained dog.

“How do you feel?” he asked as he took a step back.

“I’m okay.” Johanna said, measuring him up with a glance. “What’s the matter? You look sad.”

Sadness meant weakness in her book. Naturally, his too.

“It’s nothing.”

He poured himself a glass of orange juice. Johanna was watching him. With a sigh, Tyrell scraped for a plausible explanation that could spare him the scolding.

“The contract with Allsafe is finalized. I’ll have to drop by them tonight, shake a few hands, make sure everything is running smoothly.”

“Sounds like an assignment for a delivery boy, not the senior vice president of technology.”

True. But Tyrell couldn’t admit in front of his wife that he volunteered for the job — she’d ask him why, and what would he tell her? That he cancelled or rescheduled all his meetings for the sake of one, for a slim chance of a meeting? Stupid. It was stupid and weak, and Johanna would tell him exactly that.

“No,” Tyrell said. “This is important. For now, our security relies on them. I have to personally oversee everything is up to the standards and there’s no _ill will_ towards the company. You know how many of the major hacks turn out to be inside jobs.”

Johanna studied him another moment, then nodded.

“Of course.” She even gave him a smile. “I expect you to be home by ten.”

“I will be,” Tyrell promised. He took his wife’s hand and kissed her knuckles, one by one. “I love you.”

She gave him a glare.

“Do not disappoint me.”

He let go of her, and immediately she turned back to her breakfast.

He finished his orange juice and left.

 

 

Focusing on the work was easy, as always. Rehearse the necessary speech, write the necessary emails, fire a couple of unnecessary bigots. Nothing particularly toilsome.

As much as Tyrell enjoyed the freedom and versatility his current position allowed, occasionally — specifically, today — he caught himself missing the old days. Back then, his work had been giving him a sense of satisfaction. These days... for the most part, no matter what he did, it only drained his energy and gave nothing in return. Walking on ice, that’s what it felt like, and there was no safe shore in sight.

Well. At least, the office was nice.

 

 

Finally, the evening came. Tyrell checked — for the sixth time — that all the documents were filed properly; then he stopped by a mirror. His tie was askew, so he fixed that. A loose strand of hair overshadowed his forehead, and Tyrell quickly fixed that too.

He had to look his best. He had to be perfect. For Elliot.

 

 

When he arrived to the party, it was just starting. Gideon Goddard greeted him with a smile, grateful and generous, and Tyrell shook his hand and said it was a pleasure.

“Here’s to a long and productive partnership,” Gideon said when he offered Tyrell a drink.

“Yes. Definitely.” Tyrell accepted the glass, but he wasn’t in the mood for drinking; he clinked glasses with Gideon and took a sip, then set the glass aside. “Say, the last time I came by, there was an employee of yours... Elliot Alderson, I believe, he introduced himself. Is he still around?”

“Uh, yes. Elliot... He usually keeps to himself. I’m surprised he’d go around introducing himself to people,” with a nervous chuckle, Gideon paled a little. “He can be a bit... straightforward, sometimes, but he’s a reliable, hard-working man. Why? Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all,” Tyrell smiled to put the man at ease. “You see, Elliot and I had the most interesting conversation about desktop environments. I’ll admit, it’s been... enlightening. I’m curious if he can tell me more.”

“Oh.” Gideon seemed to relax, but he also gave Tyrell a certain look that Tyrell couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t exactly _knowing,_ but there was a hint of _suspicion,_ and it made Tyrell’s skin crawl with panic. He didn’t like that look. “Elliot called in sick today. Of course, if you have questions regarding our work process or security protocols, any and all of our employees would be happy to answer and provide the information you require.”

“No, that’s quite alright.” Tyrell cleared his throat. Called in sick, huh. That’s... unfortunate. Disappointing. Worrisome. “It’s nothing but a personal curiosity of mine. It’s fine. I was simply pleased to see a fellow Linux user.”

“Everyone at Allsafe uses Linux. It’s our standard distributive.”

“Yes. Of course. I noticed. It’s great. It’s one of the reasons we’ve chosen to work with you. Your security measures and attention to detail. It’s great.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Wellick?”

“No, no. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Excuse me, I... I hate to cut this short, but there are a few things I need to take care of. Tonight. It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Goddard.”

Yes, he bailed. He shook Gideon’s hand, said a hasty farewell, and ran like a coward.

Once he was outside, Tyrell stopped and took a deep breath to calm down.

So... Elliot was sick, and therefore was absent at the stupid party. At least, that’s what Gideon Goddard said, and the man didn’t struck Tyrell as a liar. Elliot, on the other hand...

Tyrell knew Elliot had tried to hack him. He’d expected that; after all, he wasn’t a vice CTO for nothing. When he offered Elliot a job, and Elliot didn’t ask a single question — not the obvious “why did you pick me?”, not the more sagacious “what do you want to achieve by doing this?” — Tyrell knew.

He’d set up a tracker to inform him of every attempt to sign in using his email account, and he saw the exact moment Elliot successfully logged in.

The interest was mutual.

Their yesterday’s meeting confirmed that as well. And yes, Tyrell had to lie about not having eaten, which meant eating two lunches in a row and also being late for work, just to spend time with Elliot — but it was worth it. It was worth everything and so much more.

Perhaps, it was preposterous to hope he’d meet Elliot at the party. Elliot has told him _no,_ after all, when Tyrell asked if they’d see each other “tomorrow”. Elliot had promised him _next week,_ so it should have been obvious Elliot wasn’t going to show up today.

Still, Tyrell hoped.

And was Elliot really sick? He seemed fine yesterday. Was he _avoiding_ Tyrell? Or did he hate parties? Tyrell hated parties. But what if Elliot truly fell ill? He lived alone, that much Tyrell managed to find out. What if Elliot had a fever? What if Elliot needed help, and everyone was too busy celebrating?

No, this wouldn’t do.

Thankfully, Tyrell knew where Elliot lived. And to stop by and check on Elliot, ask if he needed anything, it was only polite. It was the least Tyrell could do.

Yes. It made perfect sense.

 

* * *

 

A knock on his door was the last thing Elliot expected at 8:45 PM.

He considered ignoring it, but then his mysterious visitor knocked again. And again, a dozen seconds later. The knock was short and simple, neither frantic nor urgently panicked, but for some reason Elliot felt like it was. Perhaps, it was his own anxiety playing tricks on him.

He got up to open the door.

_“Bonsoir, Elliot.”_

Elliot blinked. Tyrell? Tyrell Wellick, on his doorstep, smiling at him — was this for real? Was this another dream, a hallucination? Was this Mr. Robot playing him, trying to force him to admit... whatever it was Mr. Robot wanted him to admit?

“May I come in?”

“What are you doing here?” Elliot whispered, clutching the door handle. “How do you know where I live?”

“It’s not that difficult to find out,” Tyrell smiled, but at least he had the decency to look bashful. So it was real? In his dreams, Tyrell didn’t blush and flutter his eyelashes; in his dreams, Tyrell was confident, assertive. And scary. But wasn’t _this_ even scarier? This Tyrell, who was real and close and touchable, flushed and ruffled a bit, and real... real... “I heard you were sick, so I decided to drop by and ask how you were doing. How do you feel? Do you need any help? Is there anything I can do?”

 _You can fuck off,_ Elliot wanted to say.

He also wanted to grab Tyrell by the back of the neck, force him to lean in until their faces clashed into one another, and his mouth was against Tyrell’s — not a kiss, not a romantic gesture even, just... hunger, thirst, _need._ Lips against lips, and then — more, to explore his skin like ocean waves explored their shores, taste the salt and the sand under his tongue.

He said nothing. And he did nothing.

Tyrell stepped past him and walked into the apartment. Still hesitant, Elliot closed and locked the door.

“I have canned chicken soup,” Elliot said. It was random, but he didn’t know what else to say. “And popcorn.”

“Is that your medicine of choice?” Tyrell chuckled. “Popcorn as the new panacea, curing all diseases one kernel at a time?”

Elliot said nothing.

Tyrell came to a stop near the kitchen table. Elliot watched him run a hand over the surface, as if checking for dust.

“I was really hoping to see you at the party tonight,” Tyrell said. “It’s the reason I volunteered to go there.”

“I’m not much of a party animal.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Elliot decided not to apologize. He didn’t ask Tyrell to go and volunteer, and he certainly didn’t promise him anything.

“Cute.” Tyrell nodded at the fishbowl where Qwerty was, as usual, swimming in circles.

“Thanks...”

After a long pause filled with nothing but silence — Elliot still had no idea what to say, how to react to Tyrell’s presence and how could any of this be real — Tyrell sighed.

“Am I intruding? I thought you could use some company, but if you’re busy — Elliot, if you want me to leave, I’ll go.”

“No,” Elliot said. “I want nothing from you. Leave, or stay. I don’t care.”

Tyrell frowned.

“Fair enough. I’ve been hoping for a more enthusiastic reply, but this will do. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather stay. Otherwise, I’d just worry about you. And we don’t want that, do we?”

“How am I supposed to know what you want?”

“I’ve just told you.”

“Stay, then.”

A smile and a nod, and Tyrell walked away, towards the couch. There, he unbuttoned his suit and sat down. He moved with easy grace, his tall frame ridiculous in that perfectly snug shiny fabric, like a cat wrapped in a blanket; Elliot couldn’t look away, tracing his every movement with eager attention.

Slowly, he took a step towards Tyrell. Then another, and another yet.

Tyrell was sitting right in the middle of the couch, and his knees were spread apart. Rude, inconsiderate. Or... considered. Deliberate. _An invitation._

Elliot stopped one step away from standing between Tyrell’s legs.

“Should I... get you anything?” he asked, scrambling to remember the protocol for receiving guests.

“Yourself?” Tyrell grinned. Shameless, audacious. Rude. Real. So easy to touch, just reach out and he’d be there, warm, real, alive. Real...

Elliot swallowed.

“Yesterday, you said we were just talking.”

“We are,” Tyrell nodded. “Aren’t we?”

Towering over him in his standing position, Elliot looked down at Tyrell who’d sprawled on the couch. His eyes followed the blue line of Tyrell’s tie, from the strict windsor knot just below his pale, vulnerable, exposed throat, down to his silky-shirt-covered chest, and down yet lower, to the very tip of the tie reaching the fine black leather belt.

And lower still.

“Elliot,” Tyrell said quietly.

“No,” Elliot swallowed again. “We’re not... talking.”

Tyrell moved, and his knee bumped into Elliot’s. Neither of them mentioned it, and neither of them moved away.

“We can talk,” Tyrell said.

“I don’t think so,” Elliot confessed. However, he took the tiniest step forward, allowing himself to be placed between Tyrell’s knees. Just a little. “I don’t think I _can_ talk to you.”

There was confusion on Tyrell’s face, and his lips parted. Elliot allowed himself to look. Cotton candy, he hated that comparison. Cotton candy was soft and fluffy, and teeth-achingly sweet, and ultimately contained nothing but empty carbs with no nutritional value.

Tyrell wasn’t sweet, fluffy, or soft. He was salty and spiky and hard, and so was Elliot right now. Very much so.

“Open your mouth,” Elliot said.

Oddly enough, Tyrell obeyed. He didn’t ask why, nor did he protest; he followed the command, no questions asked.

Elliot placed his hand under Tyrell’s jaw, feeling his pulse beat fast and hot under the touch. Tyrell stared at him; tempted by his silent obedience, Elliot moved his thumb up, sliding it over Tyrell’s lower lip.

Still no objections, just raspy breaths.

Elliot slid his thumb inside Tyrell’s mouth, and Tyrell caught it with his teeth — not in a biting manner, no; Tyrell held it gently, as an acknowledgement: _I’m ready to obey, command me._

“Suck,” Elliot ordered.

And Tyrell did. He sucked, and he licked, and he sucked again, all the while looking up at Elliot, never once closing his eyes. His mouth, hot and wet, welcomed the intrusion; his tongue was quick and slick, and it felt like warm caramel. Then he moved away from Elliot’s fingers to his palm and his inner wrist, nibbling, kissing, and Elliot shuddered; then Tyrell moved back to the fingers again, taking two in his mouth at the same time, and that’s when Elliot could no longer hold it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, desperate, and he grabbed Tyrell’s ridiculously styled hair to push his head down, to press Tyrell’s face against his aching crotch.

Tyrell dared to laugh.

“Is that a commendation, or a request?”

“Shut up...” Elliot begged.

“You could unzip your jeans, at least.” Tyrell rubbed his cheek against him, and Elliot moaned helplessly. “Or should I do it for you?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want,” Elliot whispered. He could feel the warmth radiating from Tyrell even through layers of fabric, and his cock _ached_ for it. He didn’t care about anything else at the moment; he needed it. He needed Tyrell to open his mouth and swallow his cock, choke on it, spit it out and take it back in again, smearing precum mixed with saliva all over his suit and his ugly tie, and suck him like their lives depended on it. And then lick him clean afterwards.

Tyrell pulled on the zipper, and it came undone.

Elliot squeezed his eyes shut and run both of his hands through Tyrell’s hair. And when the guy finally freed him from the excessive clothes, when his lips finally wrapped around the head of Elliot’s cock, it was too much. It was all wet, sloppy, open-mouthed licking at first, and Elliot cried out impatiently, but the very next moment Tyrell sucked him in — the whole thing. He sucked, and his mouth was silky velvet, hot, hot, and real, so real — Elliot could barely hold steady. No, actually, he couldn’t.

He tried to warn Tyrell, but all he managed to make was an audible moan. _“Uh... ah...”_ — how fucking pathetic? But he couldn’t — talk, think, do anything but take in shallow breaths, chugging air like water with his mouth, gasping, and finally — he lost control. He thrusted his hips, and he held Tyrell’s head firmly in place, and that was it.

He came down Tyrell Wellick’s throat. For real.

_Fuck._

Once he let Tyrell go, the man immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; he didn’t even frown, though, much less cough or gag. In fact, he was grinning like mad, as if Elliot hadn’t just shot a load of cum in his mouth but offered him a stick of cotton candy instead.

“Elliot...”

“Shut up,” Elliot said.

Then he grabbed Tyrell’s face and kissed him, tasting his own salt on Tyrell’s raw reddened lips. It was a foul kiss, filthy, but Elliot loved it. He kissed Tyrell, again and again, and finally Tyrell put his hands on Elliot’s waist and pulled him closer, embracing him.

A few minutes — or an eternity — later, they sat snugly close, cuddling, on the couch too small to fit the two of them comfortably. Tyrell was sitting straight, his back against the back of the seat, while Elliot was sitting with his back against the arm of the couch and his legs across Tyrell’s lap. Tyrell hugged him over the shoulders, and Elliot leaned into the embrace.

Tyrell’s clothes was going to be ruined, but the man didn’t seem to care. Hesitantly, Elliot palmed the smooth fabric of Tyrell’s shirt and wondered if he ironed his own clothes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Tyrell’s breath tickled his neck, a surprisingly pleasant sensation.

“What for?”

Elliot shrugged.

“Which should I pick first? Your clothes, your wife, giving you nothing in return...”

“Don’t say that. You’ve given me more than enough,” Tyrell smiled at him and cupped his face with his right hand — the free one, without the ring. Then, suddenly, his brow furrowed. “Wait. Elliot, do you regret what happened between us?”

“No,” Elliot said, and sighed. “That’s the scary part... I don’t feel bad. I should, but I don’t.”

“Why should you?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

He took Tyrell’s hand, the left one, and ran his thumb over Tyrell’s ring finger, careful not to touch the ring. Tyrell understood him without another word.

“Don’t feel bad. There is no need for that,” Tyrell said. “Johanna and I... we have an agreement.”

“She knows, then? About me?”

“Well, we don’t share all the details.” Tyrell looked away. “I don’t ask her, and she doesn’t ask me. It’s better this way. But... she is aware of the possibility.”

Elliot scoffed and shook his head. Fuck. What had they done? This was a terrible decision.

“Listen, man...” he shifted, moving away from Tyrell. “I’m not doing this. Thanks for sucking me off and all, but this is where it ends. I don’t want to be the side dish to your main course. If you’re looking for some fun on the side, look somewhere else.”

Tyrel froze.

“Is that it?” he said quietly, and Elliot nodded.

“That’s it. You can take a shower if you need to,” he got up from the couch. “And if you really want to _talk,_ sure. I’m here. But I’m not interested in random meaningless screwing, so I won’t let you touch me again.”

Tyrell sprang up to his feet like a startled animal.

“Elliot, listen, I — I’ve never said this is random or meaningless. I swear, this means more to me than you can imagine, I...”

“Don’t bother.”

It hurt. Elliot had known from the start this was going to be a disaster, hadn’t he? He tried so hard to resist this temptation, tried to keep the emotions at bay and not get attached. For fuck’s sake, he barely knew the man, they had a total of five conversations, and he was already this close to bursting into tears at the thought of losing him? Fuck.

“Boy, you have _some_ issues.”

Fuck. Mr. Robot, of course, he chose the perfect time to appear.

“Go away!”

“No, Elliot, wait. Let’s talk,” fuck, of course Tyrell thought Elliot was talking to him. Fuck. Fuck!

“Later! Go clean yourself up in the bathroom. Your hair is a mess.”

“Okay,” Tyrell gave in with a scowl. “But we need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk.” Elliot said.

Mr. Robot scoffed.

“Go,” Elliot insisted.

Fortunately, Tyrell took a hint and went to the bathroom. Unfortunately, the moment the bathroom door closed, Mr. Robot threw up his arms.

“Seriously? You’re letting that fucker use you and leave you with no consequences?”

“What are you talking about, man?” Elliot managed to smile. “It was _I_ who used _him_.”

“He hurt you!”

“Why? I knew he was married. I knew everything. I just didn’t care because I wanted to fuck him. And now I have. Mission complete.”

“True,” Mr. Robot frowned. “Why does it bother you, then?”

“Why does it bother _you_?” Elliot echoed his words. “You wanted him, too. But you weren’t there when I did what you wanted. Instead, you’re here now.”

“The mystery of the century,” Mr. Robot bared his teeth (Elliot wouldn’t call his grimace a smile). “You’ve got it all wrong, kiddo. I’m always right here with you. It’s not like I can fuck off on my own, right? Besides, you’re my son and I love you. So there’s that.”

Elliot shook his head.

“This doesn’t feel real.”

“Maybe it’s not.”

“Why would he come here? He has things to do.”

“And people. You heard him, they _have an agreement._ He’s fucked a dozen guys like you, and that’s just this month.”

“No, he’s not real. He can’t be.”

“He’s real, alright. A real dick! Seriously, why do you want him? Huh?”

“Don’t you?”

“Not really. I was just messing with you, trying to push you to get it out of your system, so you could see him for what he really is.”

“What?”

“A moron. A psychopath. A soulless corporate robot, just like the rest of them. He doesn’t know you, us... he doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t _deserve_ us.”

Elliot rubbed the sides of his face with his palms; they were cold and sticky wet, and he hated Mr. Robot and he hated himself so much. He was crashing. No, _he_ wasn’t Tyrell’s malware; Tyrell was _his_. Tyrell made him crave things he hadn’t so much as thought about wanting for years.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Elliot?”

“Fuck!” he flinched, startled. Tyrell was behind him, droplets of water dripping from his wet messy hair. Oh, and also he’s naked. Fuck. “Put on some clothes, man...”

“Are you offering yours?” Tyrell smiled.

“I’m not offering you anything.”

Tyrell put a hand on Elliot’s shoulder. Just one, the right one; Elliot automatically tracked the left one, but suddenly realized there was no ring. Tyrell must have taken it off before showering.

“Aren’t you afraid of losing it?” Elliot asked. “Your ring, I mean.”

“It’s just a ring.” Tyrell held his gaze. “There’s more to commitment than jewelry.”

It made Elliot laugh. He laughed freely and easily, and he straightened his hand, pressed the back of it firmly against the inner side of Tyrell’s forearm, pushing him away.

“What?” Tyrell asked, confused.

“Nothing,” Elliot breathed out. “Absolutely nothing.”

He walked away from the naked man, and he managed not to look. The pleasure Tyrell had given him still echoed in his muscles when he moved, and he also felt Tyrell’s eyes following him, taking him in.

He wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted, was he?

There was a half-finished bowl of popcorn on the kitchen table — the remnants of Elliot’s earlier escapade. Yes, rewatching the same shitty movie for the hundredth time was not much of an escapade, but ditching work to hang out with an imaginary friend — that counted, didn’t it?

No. It was stupid.

The bowl was made of plastic, and Elliot pushed it, swiped it off, sent it flying to the floor in one swift motion.

Popcorn scattered everywhere.

“What are you doing?” Tyrell asked.

“Making space.” The table was empty now. “Come here.”

“Elliot...”

“You want this, do you not?”

“Not unless you do,” Tyrell walked up to the table, though. “And you said you didn’t want me touching you.”

“I’ve changed my mind.”

Tyrell frowned.

“I’m confused.”

“You’re naked,” Elliot said, to which Tyrell reasonably objected.

“An observation, not an explanation.”

Elliot shrugged.

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m not that good.” Tyrell chuckled, a mix of pride and embarrassment apparent on his features. “Although I’m flattered, of course, but to be honest — I’m concerned...”

“Do you ever stop talking about yourself?”

“...for you.”

With a sigh, Elliot put his hands atop the empty table.

“I don’t get you, man. What do you want from me?”

“I wish I knew,” Tyrell sighed, too. “May I... stay the night?”

“We barely know each other.”

“So?”

 _So,_ indeed. What did any of this matter? Tomorrow was going to be Saturday, and Elliot had nowhere to be. What Tyrell was going to do if Elliot let him stay, strangle him in his sleep? Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing, all things considered. What good was his life if he didn’t even enjoy it himself?

“There are T-shirts in the top drawer,” Elliot said.

Tyrell smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Can you not get dressed, yet?”

“Didn’t you tell me to put on some clothes?”

“I also told you to bend over the table, and you ignored it.”

“About that...” Tyrell drew a semicircle over the floor with his foot, gathering the loose popcorn kernels in a small uneven pile. “Don’t you think we should clear this up?”

“Later,” Elliot said.

“I really want to sleep with you tonight,” Tyrell said out of the blue. “In your bed.”

“Okay,” Elliot replied.

He took Tyrell’s hand and led him all the way to the bed, stepping right over the scattered popcorn which crackled under their feet. Elliot couldn’t care less. He was still wearing his jeans, although unzipped, and a T-shirt. He wondered if Tyrell liked that, being naked in front of a fully dressed man; Elliot decided he wouldn’t have liked that in Tyrell’s place.

Then again, there were other things he wouldn’t have liked, while Tyrell seemed to enjoy them just fine.

They stopped by the bed. It was covered with a messy wrinkled gray sheet, and Elliot expected Tyrell to cringe or otherwise express his disapproval, but Tyrell didn’t bat an eyelid.

“Just so you know, by _sleep_ I actually meant _sleep,_ as in slumber,” he said instead. “Not sex.”

“Fine,” Elliot said. “I don’t give a shit if we fuck or not.”

“No?”

“No.”

He sat down on the bed. Tyrell stood before him, watching him. Elliot looked up to meet his eyes; for some reason, it felt more intimate than staring at Tyrell’s dick dangling right in front of his face.

“I could return the favor,” Elliot suggested.

“If that’s what you want,” Tyrell said. His dick twitched, getting harder at the mention of a blowjob, but his eyes remained unchanged. He looked at Elliot with a strange expression, seeking, waiting, trying to discern something in him... Elliot couldn’t understand what Tyrell was looking for, and yet it made him feel a certain warmth.

He liked that look.

“Lie down,” Elliot patted the mattress.

Tyrell obeyed. He laid on his back in Elliot’s bed, naked, and if Elliot was honest with himself — Tyrell was gorgeous. Elliot wanted him. Not even in a sexual manner, but a sensual one: he wanted to touch this man, run his hands down his chest, hold his hips, straddle him and look at him, and caress his face.

“Does it feel surreal to you, too?” Elliot whispered as he traced Tyrell’s collarbone with his index finger.

“No,” Tyrell whispered back. “This feels good.”

“Can I kiss you?” Elliot asked.

“I don’t know,” Tyrell grinned, “can you?”

Elliot leaned down and placed his lips against Tyrell’s, chaste, soft  and gentle, barely there.

“I want to talk,” he whispered again.

Reaching up, Tyrell run his hand through Elliot’s hair. He didn’t say anything; this close, his face eclipsed the rest of the world, all and nothing, for nothing mattered. Elliot was engrossed, bewitched, paralyzed, caught in an endless loop: Tyrell. Tyrell.

Why was he sad and ecstatic at the same time?

Coding and hacking were both easier than this. Understanding another person enough to find their vulnerabilities was one thing; understanding what to do with their vulnerability when it was laid bare in front of him, willingly, that’s another.

Tyrell trusted him. And it was Elliot’s responsibility not to hurt him; approach him openly, with no malicious intent, with no mask on and no chip on his shoulder — it was intimidating, scary, unfamiliar.

Honesty and trust. Definitely not something Elliot would expect from an Evil Corp employee. Or from himself.

Yet there they were.

“Do you trust me?” barely audible, the words rolled off his tongue slowly, heavily.

“Yes,” Tyrell caught his hands and held fast, interlacing their fingers. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Elliot wanted to tell him a million things, ask a million questions. _“Stay the night”_ , and _“Do you think there is a point in any of this”_ , and _“Is it worth even trying to understand each other”_ , and _“What if I fall in love with you?”_...

He wanted to talk, with Tyrell, about everything. But he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, lost for words; it was overwhelming. To let go of his fears that wouldn’t go away. To expose himself.

That was the danger of establishing connection. No matter how secure, it always posed a threat: losing it. A bad interruption during the writing process could corrupt the file system entirely.

Tyrell was dangerous. But it was too late to resist, wasn’t it? They were already connected. He was right there.

He was real, his calescent body and the scent of Elliot’s soap on his skin, it was all entirely real.

Touching him made Elliot feel real, too.

“If you disappear in the morning,” Elliot whispered, “I’ll consider tonight a dream.”

Then he closed his eyes and promptly kissed Tyrell.


	2. Popcorn

Elliot woke up alone.

It was 8:35 AM, and he was alone in his bed. Good; considering he’d woken up in a ferris wheel cabin the day before, waking up in his own bed was good. And if he was alone, well... it could only mean one thing.

Tyrell Wellick had never set foot in his apartment.

It was a dream. A freakishly real one, but a dream nonetheless. Or... was it? The bed sheets were all messy, but it’s not like Elliot had ever kept his bed in pristine condition in the first place.

What happened last night? Anything? Where was Tyrell?

He couldn’t remember, Elliot realized with a sudden terrifying clarity; he couldn’t remember a single thing about the night. One second, he was on top of Tyrell and they were about to kiss, and the next moment — he was awake.

8:37 AM.

In a fit of panic, Elliot sweeped his hands over his body to check for possible hints — if anything happened last night, the activity must have left some marks. He just needed to calm down and look, and think. Alright? Alright.

He was naked, for one thing. That didn’t indicate anything but the fact that, at some point, his clothes had been taken off. A faint bruise on his wrist, that’s something; but it could have been self-inflicted. What else? Tyrell kissed him, right? His neck, to be more specific, and it wasn’t just a quick nuzzle — he full-on bit into it, didn’t he?

Up on his feet in an instant, Elliot rushed to the bathroom. If there was a bite mark on his neck, a bruise on his shoulder, anything—

There was.

A faint wine-colored stain at the base of his throat, a small one — apparently, Tyrell had been more careful than Elliot had anticipated him to be. Still, there was a mark, and that meant the night was real, Tyrell was real, and...

Tyrell had left him.

Elliot walked out of the bathroom, slowly, and came to a stop near the kitchen table. He leaned on it and slouched wearily, all strength unexplainably drained at once. As if the very air pressed him heavily from all sides, he felt... crushed.

“Hey, kiddo, come on,” a hand touched his shoulder, but Elliot knew that hand and it gave him no joy. He’d laugh hysterically, he’d scream with laughter in Mr. Robot’s face — if only he had the energy. But he didn’t. “Hey, I’m here. You are not alone. You are never alone.”

“For all the good it does me!” Elliot shook his head. “Were you there when he left? Were you in on it?”

“Come on, son, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Were you!?” Elliot swung around, shoving Mr. Robot in the chest. Mr. Robot stumbled, and Elliot pressed on. “Did you take over again? Did you tell him to leave?”

“No!” Mr. Robot grabbed Elliot by the shoulders. “Listen to me, kiddo. You’re angry — good, but you’ve picked the wrong target. That guy — he’s a lunatic. Who knows what he’s up to! We let him stay, and this is the gratitude he shows us? You should be angry. With him!”

Elliot shivered.

“I just want to be normal,” he mumbled. “Why can’t I just be normal?”

Mr. Robot clinged to him, not letting go. It felt so real, his dirty grabby hands, almost as real as Tyrell’s — almost, or just as? Was it real, last night? Was it..?

A flash of memory burned through his mind all of a sudden, and Elliot gasped. Popcorn! He remembered popcorn. A bowl falling from the table, scattering its contents all over the floor, and then... Tyrell had suggested they clean it up, but Elliot refused and took him to bed... they crushed some popcorn under their feet as they walked, and after that, in bed, there were bits of it stuck to their feet, and Elliot remembered — yeah, he did some weird stuff with Tyrell’s foot when... oh. Oh, okay. That’s an interesting memory.

No, no way it was real.

Besides, there’s nothing on the floor. Either Tyrell had swept the mess off before he left, which didn’t seem likely; or... Elliot hallucinated the whole thing.

The table’s empty. Where’s the bowl? If he could find the bowl, he could confirm it wasn’t real. It wasn’t. It couldn’t have been.

“Yeah, no, it definitely was.” Mr. Robot waved his hand. “Look there.”

Following the gesture, Elliot looked where Mr. Robot was pointing. The bathroom door? But... he was just there a minute ago, and there was nothing out of the ordinary, definitely no popcorn bowls in the shower or anything like that.

“Leave the stupid bowl alone, will you!” Mr. Robot grunted as he jumped down from the table he’d been sitting atop on (when did he get there? Elliot didn’t notice). “You want proof, I’ll show you proof. Follow me.”

Reluctantly, Elliot followed. Mr. Robot led him to the bathroom and stopped before the sink. Then he pointed at it.

“See? Real.”

“I don’t get it, what does a sink have to do with...” but Elliot finally looked where Mr. Robot directed him, and he saw it. The ring. Golden, plain, unremarkable — a wedding band. “...Tyrell.”

“Unless you’d been entertaining some _other_ spouse-deceiving crazy fucker when I wasn’t looking, yeah, that’s his.” Mr. Robot nodded. “What do you think, should we keep it? Should we throw it in the trash where it belongs? Or maybe, listen to this, maybe we should drop by his house and return it to the owner. Or his wife, imagine that! Hello, Mrs. Wellick, your husband dropped this in my sink the other night, do you mind giving it back to him, seeing as I’ve given him _plenty of back_ already?!”

Mr. Robot practically roared with laughter at his own stupid joke.

Elliot wasn’t laughing. He took the ring in his hands. It was cold and smooth, and it barely weighed anything. He traced the rim with his middle finger, then — after a moment’s hesitation — put it on.

A little tight, but the ring fitted.

“Seriously?” Mr. Robot looked at him, puzzled. “You’re going to wear it?”

“No. I’m going to return it.”

“How? By making him take it off with his teeth as he sucks on your finger again? Actually, the weirdo would probably be into that.” Mr. Robot smirked. “His wife, on the other hand... I doubt her reaction will be equally benign.”

“I’m not asking you for advice.”

“Well, maybe you should! That’s why I’m here, remember? To make your miserable life less unbearable. That’s what you told me, remember, that I was the only person you could talk to. So, talk to me! What are you going to do?”

Elliot shrugged.

“Call him.”

“And?”

“And tell him I have it.” Elliot looked at the ring on his finger. “Suggest we meet so I could return it to him.”

“And how do you think he’ll react?” Mr. Robot scoffed. “Did you forget what he said? Yesterday, when you asked him if he was afraid of losing it. He said he didn’t care. He doesn’t care about the ring, about you — about anything but himself! Screw him. Throw it in the trash. That’s what it is to him, why should it be anything else for you? His wedding ring is a piece of garbage, his marriage is a lie, and he is a soulless sell-out with nothing but a few screws loose in his head. He ain’t worth our time. He’s a zero. Are you a zero, Elliot? Or are you a one?”

“Clearly, I’m two.” Elliot tried to smile at his own comeback, but he couldn’t.

There was a point to Mr. Robot’s ramblings. If Tyrell left with no goodbyes, would he even want to see Elliot again? Whatever he’d said yesterday, it was the spur of the moment; he would have said whatever he needed to say to get what he wanted. And now that Elliot had given it to him, what more would Tyrell want? Nothing.

Tyrell had left, disappeared without a trace. Because he didn’t want to see Elliot in the morning, or — possibly, probably, likely — ever again.

Elliot was just about to take off the ring when a startling sharp knock hammered loudly against his front door. Elliot flinched away from the sink, out of the bathroom; only when he wanted to hide his ring-wearing hand in a pocket he realized he had no pockets. Because he was naked, just as he’d been when he woke up.

Another knock at the door.

Frantically, Elliot grabbed a sheet and wrapped it around his body. There was no time to hide the ring after taking it off, so he left it on and hid his hand under a fold of fabric.

Finally, he opened the door.

“Elliot Alderson?”

There was a stranger on his doorstep — a policeman, judging by the uniform. Why did a policeman came to see him? There’s a folder in the policeman’s hands; papers, not handcuffs. Good? But what did he do?

“Mr. Alderson?” the policeman repeated.

“Yes,” Elliot replied.

“I am Sergeant Grant, and I’m here to inform you that Tyrell Wellick has filed for a restraining order against you. Your charges are stalking, cyberstalking, and harassment. Our department will conduct an investigation. In the meantime, the judge has issued a temporary order by which you are forbidden to approach Mr. Wellick within a specified distance, visit his home and place of work, make phone calls or any other contact with him. Failure to comply with a restraining order will result in your arrest. The hearing is scheduled for the 9th of May, here is your summons. Consider yourself served.”

Sergeant Grant handed Elliot the papers which Elliot took, more on autopilot than with a conscious effort. His mind was blank.

“Sign here, please.”

He barely looked at what he signed.

“Thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Alderson.”

The sergeant left, and Elliot locked the door after him.

What just happened..?

 

* * *

 

They didn’t have sex.

They were lying in bed making out, kissing slowly, probing each other’s defences; normally, Tyrell wasn’t the one for patience, but with Elliot — he wanted the night to last forever. When Elliot finally allowed Tyrell to touch him properly, Tyrell took the opportunity to stroke them both with one hand, which wasn’t easy — but he managed. Elliot only held him, fingernails digging into Tyrell’s upper arms deep enough to leave scratch marks, bleeding red, on his skin, as Tyrell was working his mouth over Elliot’s neck while jerking them both to completion.

It wasn’t enough.

“Fuck...” Elliot came with a moan, for the second time tonight.

But Tyrell couldn’t find his release. He let his hand slow down and fall away, and he rolled off to lie on his back. Even though he was close, he didn’t feel like finishing on his own.

“What is it?” even through his own bliss, Elliot noticed. “Do you want me to..?”

It was a tempting offer, and Tyrell found himself nodding in agreement despite the sudden hesitation. To his credit, Elliot must have sensed his reluctance because he touched Tyrell’s cheek, forcing him to face him, to look him in the eyes.

“Tyrell.”

“Elliot?” Tyrell smiled. He liked saying Elliot’s name out loud, just for the sake of it, and especially when it served another purpose — this time, to tease him. Unfortunately, Elliot was not in a playful mood.

“Do you want me to do it for you, or do you want to stop?”

Tyrell shrugged.

“I’m fine with either. At this point, I can handle denial pretty well. I actually find it useful from time to time.”

Still, his cock contradicted his words: it remained hard, leaking droplets of precum; and, when Elliot chose to touch it after all, Tyrell shuddered with a needy, breathless moan.

“I’d rather we both got something out of this,” Elliot whispered. Smugness radiated from his voice, but Tyrell was too busy trying to keep his every reaction under control to argue.

Maybe it was easier to handle one instead of two, or maybe it was due to the fact that it was Elliot’s hand this time, but Tyrell’s cock was swelling with heavy pleasure within seconds.

Just then, Elliot pushed him away and down on his back.

“Touch yourself.”

Tyrell obeyed. He held his own cock again and looked at Elliot on the knees between his legs — spread open — and he wondered if Elliot wanted to fuck him.

“Do it, if you want to,” Tyrell whispered.

Elliot ran his hands down Tyrell’s thighs, then up, then he grabbed Tyrell’s ankles and guided them up to his shoulders.

“I just want to look.” Elliot smiled, and it was so different from his usual smile Tyrell almost paused; but then, Elliot ran his hands down his thighs again, fingers spread wide, and firmly grasped Tyrell’s ass. It sent an impulse throughout Tyrell, a hot and sharply pleasant impulse, electric in its intensity. “For now, I just want to see your face when you come.”

Tyrell moaned.

“I’m... close...”

“Get on with it, then,” Elliot gave him that odd, wicked smile again.

And then Elliot grabbed his left ankle, and in a moment Tyrell thanked god for his foresight to take a shower — because Elliot pulled Tyrell’s foot to his mouth and started nibbling on his toes. That’s when Tyrell called for god out loud, this time for an entirely different reason.

It was the weirdest turn-on. Why did it even feel good? But... it did.

“You walked all over my popcorn, man,” Elliot mumbled, and then he licked Tyrell’s foot sole.

Tyrell had never had a foot fetish in his life; honestly, he never understood it at all. But with Elliot’s tongue tickling his toes, and Elliot’s thumb working its way towards that sweet spot just under his balls, and his own hand stroking the head of his dick frenetically, Tyrell was finally undone.

He came, and it was the weirdest orgasm in his life.

Ah his eyes rolled in pleasure, his gaze landed on the clock on the wall.

The clock said 10:45 PM.

 

* * *

 

“You, the adverse party, are hereby notified that any intentional violation of this order is a criminal violation and can result in your immediate arrest or issuance of an arrest warrant...”

Elliot stared at the paper in his hands. He could barely make out the words or register their meaning.

Tyrell got a restraining order against him. Why? When? How was this even possible, such things couldn’t possibly be done within a few hours. Could they? No, this — this couldn’t be.

If Tyrell was there last night, and he was — at least, his ring was..? Then he couldn’t have filed for a restraining order. Unless he had done it beforehand? But why would he come to see Elliot — if, clearly, he didn’t want to see him?

What the fuck. What the...

Another knock on the door. Did that strange sergeant forget something? Did Elliot miss a tick when he was signing those papers?

He opened the door, prepared for the worst.

He wasn’t prepared to see Angela.

“Hey. Since you’re actually sick, I’ve decided to bring you some chicken soup,” she smiled as she walked past him, inside the apartment. “Sheesh, what is that smell? Did you have an orgy with a football team last night? It stinks like a dozen sweaty socks in here.”

Elliot stared at her wordlessly. She marched up to the kitchen table and placed the plastic bag she’d brought, on top of it.

“I’ve also brought a couple of oranges,” Angela continued like nothing was wrong. “And a thermos of camomile tea. My mom used to make it for us whenever we had a sore throat, remember? So, I’ve thought, hey. I should make you some. It doesn’t taste the same, though. I wonder what she used to put in it...”

“Angela.”

“Yes?” she turned around, a wave of long blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “Wow, you look so pale. You really are sick. Did you call a doctor?”

“He filed for a restraining order against me.”

“What?” she looked just as lost as Elliot felt. “Why? Which doctor is that?”

“Not a doctor,” Elliot walked up to the table, too, and put the papers there. “Tyrell Wellick.”

Angela’s eyebrows flew up. She took the paper Elliot passed towards her; after a few seconds of skimming it through, she dropped it back on the table.

“You can see it too, right?” Elliot asked. “The subpoena, and this... notification...”

“Yes. I can see it,” Angela frowned. “Elliot, what did you do?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t believe him. Elliot wouldn’t have believed himself either, but he really didn’t remember doing anything Tyrell didn’t want him to do. Except...

“I might have hacked his email.”

“ _Might_ have?”

“If they knew about it, they’d warrant an arrest order, not... this.”

Angela crossed her arms.

“You know, he asked about you at the party. Gideon said it was about some desktop environment dispute, but he didn’t sound too convinced. He asked me to check on you.”

“Tyrell asked you to check on me?”

“No, Gideon did! God, Elliot... what is wrong with you today?” Angela sighed. “I really think you should see a doctor.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I look fine as hell!” Elliot snapped, and instantly felt guilty when Angela took a step back. She looked scared. “I’m sorry. Angela, I’m sorry. I just... I didn’t get much sleep last night, and now I have this headache. I can’t focus. But I’ll be fine. I’ll take a few painkillers, and I’ll be fine.”

Angela studied him warily. Elliot did his best to look normal.

“Okay,” Angela said finally. “Get some rest. I need to go, we have a thing planned with Ollie. But I’m worried about you, Elliot. I’ll stop by again tonight, and we’ll talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” Elliot nodded.

“I’ll ask Shayla to keep an eye on you while I’m gone,” Angela added, and Elliot objected.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It’s for the best,” Angela said with an air of finality. Then she pointed at the plastic bag on the table. “Eat, drink the tea, then get some sleep. I’ll check when I’m back.”

Elliot said nothing. Angela approached him and kissed his cheek.

“See you in the evening,” she said.

Then she gave him an awkward pat on the shoulder and headed for the door.

“Angela,” Elliot called for her to stop.

“Yes?”

“Do you see this?”

He raised his hand with the golden ring stuck on his middle finger. Angela frowned.

“There’s a bruise on your wrist.”

“No, I’m talking about this,” Elliot bent the rest of his fingers, tucking them in, so the one with the ring was the only one sticking out.

Angela gasped.

“Elliot! That’s very rude. Are you seeing Darlene again? Is this why you have been acting so strange since last month?”

She didn’t see it. Which meant the ring wasn’t there. But it was. It was right there, on Elliot’s finger, and when he touched it with his other hand it didn’t disappear.

“I haven’t met up with Darlene in years.” He tried to pull the ring off, but it wouldn’t budge. “You don’t see anything on my finger?”

“Oh, you meant the ring...” wait, so she did see it? “Sorry. I thought you were flipping me off. Why, what’s important about that ring? It kinda looks like a wedding band. Wait, you didn’t secretly get married, did you?”

“No.”

“Good, because I’ll be pissed if you don’t invite me to your wedding.” Angela smiled. “I need to see Shayla in a wedding dress.”

“What does Shayla have to do with anything?”

“Well... you’re dating, right? I thought... you know.”

Elliot laughed. He actually laughed, because the idea of dating Shayla... it was so normal, and so utterly bizarre in the light of last night.

The night after which he got served a fucking restraining order.

Fuck.

“Nevermind,” Elliot said as he turned away from Angela. “Go, do your thing with Ollie. We’ll talk in the evening.”

“Wait, but what’s that about your ring?”

“Nothing. I’ve just found it this morning.” It wasn’t even a lie. “Go on, go. It can wait. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.”

Angela studied him another moment, then shrugged.

“Okay. See you later.”

And, with that, she left.

 

 

Alone in his apartment again, Elliot wandered towards the couch and sat there. He didn’t feel sad, or angry, or hurt and lonely anymore, just... very confused.

Tyrell had been there last night. Tyrell said he wanted more, that it meant something for him. He almost professed his undying love, for fuck’s sake! It was real, it was all real.

Yet, here’s the restraining order. And not even Mr. Robot knew what the actual fuck he’d done to deserve this. And he can’t legally contact Tyrell to find out the truth.

Also, where did his popcorn bowl go? Seriously. And yes, all things considered, it’s an odd thing to worry about... but Elliot hated leaving things unexplained.

So, the plan was to:

a) recover his popcorn bowl;  
b) ask Tyrell what happened;  
c) not get arrested in the process.

Now... how could he pull it off..?


	3. Reaching out

First things first, Elliot re-read the papers he’d been served. Legal lingo was not his strong suit, but the rules seemed pretty simple: stay at least 100 feet away from Tyrell Wellick, his home and his office, and make no contact with him via any means including a third party.

So, no calling Mrs. Wellick to ask why her husband changed his mind about having an affair. Right, as if it was ever an option.

No contact...

When you find a bug in your program and you cannot determine its cause, where do you start even looking for a solution? How do you find what went wrong when you don’t have the access to a debugging console or the crash logs, when you only have a few fragments of the source code?

He needed Tyrell. He needed an explanation.

Physical contact, such as a face to face meeting or a phone call, was out of the question. Too risky. Besides, Elliot was no good dealing with people — it had never been his forte, plus the strange effect Tyrell had had on him wasn’t any help either.

Which left Elliot with only one option: hack him. Again.

Wasting no time, he turned on the computer.

First of all, he had to check if the old password still worked. If his initial guess was right and Tyrell had known and expected the hack, it was likely that the password had been changed since then; it was entirely possible the password had been changed for any number of reasons, including but not limited to regular security measures — it was Tyrell’s work email, after all.

Elliot opened TOR and updated the network settings to use a secure proxy server to make sure the IP address wouldn’t be traced back to him — a basic precaution, but a necessary one. Then, he got to work.

The old password didn’t work.

Elliot wasn’t surprised. He expected as much, which meant his assessment of Tyrell as an intelligent man who almost caught Elliot red-handed... wasn’t wrong. Despite the weirder parts of Tyrell’s personality, he was not just a buffoon. He was good.

Then again, everyone had their weirder parts.

So, what could Tyrell’s new password be? It couldn’t be related to his wife — too obvious; changing the old password to another similar one would be pointless. Tyrell was smarter than that. Wasn’t he?

Elliot ran his password-guessing script, just in case.

No matches.

So, none of the previously established information was useful. Not Tyrell’s personal data, not his family, not his country of origin. Commendable; a testament to his intelligence, however irritating.

What happened? Why did Tyrell change his password to something completely unrelated? During this last month, what influenced him so profoundly he was certain he’d remember it no matter what?

_“There’s something between us, I can feel it.”_

Elliot turned to look back at the restraining order lying abandoned on the kitchen table.

No... that’s a crazy idea.

He turned to the computer again. The cursor blinked white inside the black console window.

Was it? Crazy? To think that Tyrell might have changed his password because of a fleeting acquaintance. To wonder if Tyrell wanted to keep him this close, despite all the proof suggesting otherwise.

Elliot looked at the ring — Tyrell’s ring — pressing tight around his middle finger.

Was it crazy..?

He added his personal info in the data array, then hit the key to run the script again.

Match found: _Elli0tAlder3on_.

Elliot stared at the screen in disbelief. Then he started laughing. No... Tyrell didn’t change at all. He left himself wide open to exploit, still using the name of his lover as his password.

Wait. Did that mean..?

If Tyrell knew Elliot could hack him, changing his password to Elliot’s name — was this a way to tell him something? Was this... a declaration of love? Did Tyrell want to let Elliot know he was important enough to Tyrell that he was willing to bet his life, all he had, on Elliot’s name?

No. No, that’s crazy, and Elliot was reading too much into it. He had the password, and there was no time to waste.

Setting wishful thinking aside, Elliot opened the drafts folder.

He couldn’t contact Tyrell directly. He could, however, leave him a message with a hint; if this was a misunderstanding, if Tyrell wanted to clear things up... he’d see the message and he’d know what to do.

A quick search for Coney Island photos, and Elliot had a picture of the Wonder Wheel he needed. He took a screenshot of the picture and saved it as a JPEG file, making sure to clear all the extra properties; then he set the “date taken” to tomorrow afternoon, the title to “put ‘eem”, added “ring” to the tags section, and — just to make sure Tyrell wouldn’t miss a clue — added the GPS coordinates of the Wonder Wheel to the “comment” field.

Then he attached his hastily crafted invitation for a meetup to a new draft, specified his own email as the recipient, and declared the subject as “D0NT U F0RGET AB0UT ME” — perhaps, a misspelled quote from an 80s pop song in all caps was a bit over the line, yes, but he had to be certain it would catch Tyrell’s attention. And, of course, he used three zeros instead of O’s as a nod towards Tyrell’s new password — a cherry on top.

Alright. The message was loud and clear. That is, if Tyrell would bother to read it. And if he went to the police with it, he had no proof it was Elliot’s work.

He left the email in the drafts and logged out.

There was no need for a full wipe-down this time, so Elliot simply cleared what he had to and turned the computer off.

All he had to do now was wait until tomorrow. Easy, right? Elliot could wait. It was the simplest activity, doing nothing. Watching the clock tick, a steady beat of sound and silence, those analogue ones and zeros — tick, one; pause, zero; tick, one... each hit marked another passing second of the neverending runtime process.

Elliot got up to make some coffee.

 

* * *

 

It was well past midnight, but Tyrell couldn’t sleep. Insomnia was a normal occurence to him; it followed him — like a roar of thunder after a lightning strike, inevitable.

He knew it was abnormal to be filled to the brim with energy one moment only to crash and burn the next, but he made no attempt to fix the issue — _c’est la vie_ , it’s not like E-Corp would consider giving the CTO title to a man who regularly visited a shrink or ate pills like oatmeal for breakfast.

Medical treatment was out of the question. Either he learned to control himself, or he could say goodbye to his dreams. He’d chosen the former.

So he laid in the dark and stared at the man lying next to him.

Elliot. Elliot Alderson. The most beautiful man in the world, in the Milky Way galaxy, no — the entire existence. So wonderful and perfect, a single smile from him could steal Tyrell’s breath away. Tyrell was lost, smitten, enchanted; _le coup de foudre,_ that’s what it was.

Love at first sight, striking him like a lightning.

Elliot seemed to be asleep. Curled up in a ball, he pressed his knees to his chest; so small. Tiny. Precious. Tyrell was lying on his side as he looked at him, his tiny sleepy Elliot, and he was aching to his core. His heart swelled with painful, sad tenderness as he longed for — this. This, forever, always, every night, every morning.

It wasn’t just physical attraction. They didn’t even have proper sex, and yet... it felt like a religious experience. Elliot certainly wasn’t the first guy Tyrell had sexual contact with, yet somehow it felt like he was, like Tyrell had never been with anyone — not like this.

Elliot had provided a towel and a pack of wipes so they could clean themselves up. Tyrell had suggested a shower, together, but Elliot shook his head uttering a non-committal “later” and fell asleep almost immediately after a quick wipe-down.

Tyrell stayed up, awake, fumbling with his thoughts.

He had never stayed the night with any other lover. He had never wanted to cuddle, not even with Johanna; to trace his fingers over another person’s skin with no sexual follow-up, simply for the sake of touching them, caressing them more for his own pleasure rather than theirs — yes, because giving sexual pleasure was a way of gaining their trust, or their loyalty, or something else. Like throwing a corporate party after signing off an important deal, sex was a tool to secure cooperation. Tyrell cared little beyond that.

Except, with Elliot, everything was different. Intense. With him, the world made sense and everything fell in its place, finally right...

“You’re staring.”

Startled, Tyrell flinched and lost his balance, falling on his back. Apparently, Elliot wasn’t asleep as soundly as Tyrell had assumed judging by his closed eyes and steady breathing.

“I like watching you.” Tyrell propped up his head with an elbow, recovering his position.

“You said you wanted to sleep in my bed. You’re not sleeping.”

“I can’t. I keep thinking... this and that, you know how it goes. On and on, and you can’t shut it down, it’s just your brain battling itself until dawn.” Elliot chuckled at that, and Tyrell knew he understood. “I thought your presence might help... but even as I see you before my eyes, my thoughts still revolve around you. Just as they have for the last few weeks. I find myself at a crossroads, of sorts.”

Elliot finally opened his eyes to look at him.

“You wonder where we should go from here.”

“Yes and no.” Tyrell reached out to caress Elliot's face. He felt the fuzz of the developing stubble under his fingertips — soft, but with a hint of a thousand prickly hair tips. Elliot smiled under the touch, however, and Tyrell smiled as well. He couldn’t help himself. “I know we belong together. I can feel it. But the nature of our connection, that’s what I’m trying to determine.”

“You don’t think it’s obvious?”

“Aside from that.”

“You’re so busy trying to look above, you don’t see what’s in front of you.” Elliot caught his hand. “Don’t overthink this.”

“I just want to know where we stand.” Tyrell inched closer, just a little. “Elliot, I think I’m in lo--”

“Shh.” Elliot shushed him with a finger over his mouth. “Some things are better left unsaid. Ok? We’re not there yet. You don’t know me.”

“I want to know.”

“You will. In time.” Elliot closed his eyes. “Now sleep.”

And just like that, he did. Like a program shutting down on command, he closed his eyes and the warm fuzzy darkness swept him away.

 

 

The morning started with a shrill, unpleasant sound: Tyrell’s phone was ringing.

“What?” he demanded, still half-asleep and not bothering with a greeting, as soon as he accepted the call.

“A police officer came looking for you,” Johanna said. Her voice was cool and even, and Tyrell was completely awake immediately. “Sutherland is on his way to retrieve you.”

“Wait...” Tyrell blinked. “How do you know where I am?”

“He knows. It’s his job.”

True enough.

“I expect you to be home within an hour,” Johanna said. And then she hung up without another word.

Tyrell stared at his phone, then quickly looked around. His clothes... right, he’d left it on the bathroom floor last night.

“Elliot,” Tyrell looked at his lover sleeping soundly beside him. Elliot didn’t respond, and Tyrell gently touched his shoulder. “Elliot. I have to go.”

“Go,” Elliot mumbled, his eyes closed.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Tyrell asked. “I hate to leave you like this.”

Elliot mumbled something incoherent and turned on his other side, away from Tyrell.

Rubbing his temple, Tyrell sighed. Well, he didn’t have a choice, did he? Johanna’s message sounded urgent, so he’d have to go home and resolve the matter. And afterwards, he would need to call Elliot to apologize and explain everything... hopefully, Elliot would understand. Yes, of course he would.

Tyrell got up and went to the bathroom.

His suit was a mess, and his shirt had a dried up cum stain on the right sleeve, but Tyrell did his best to ignore the condition of his clothes and dressed up quickly. Knowing Sutherland, if Johanna said the man would be there shortly — it meant he could show up any minute, so there was no time to waste.

Tyrell splashed his face with cold water for good measure, then left the bathroom.

The clock displayed the time as 8:16 AM.

Elliot was still in bed, his pose relaxed and his skin shimmering with a golden glow in the morning light. Tyrell smiled; if he wasn’t afraid Elliot would dislike that, he’d probably take a photo right now. He wanted to remember this moment.

Forever.

He was going to walk over to the kitchen sink to pour himself a glass of water to sip while watching Elliot sleep, but the sudden crunchy noise startled him as soon as he took a step towards the kitchenette. Tyrell looked down at the floor — and, of course, it was there. The popcorn.

Well. Since he was going to leave without saying goodbye — he really didn’t have the heart to wake Elliot up, no — the least Tyrell could do was to clean up the mess they’d made. Technically, it was Elliot’s fault, but Tyrell was not about to start pointing fingers, not now.

There was no broom and no trash container in sight, so Tyrell had to use a paper towel to gather all the loose popcorn into the plastic bowl. Just as he was almost finished, someone knocked at the door.

No, not “someone”. Sutherland.

Elliot, still in bed, didn’t flinch at the sound. Tyrell could almost suspect he was feigning sleep, if it wasn’t for the steady breathing and the most peaceful expression he’d ever seen on Elliot’s face. No, Elliot was just having a good dream; waking him now would certainly classify as a criminal offence. He was too perfect.

“I love you,” Tyrell said.

Maybe Elliot was right and it was too early to say that, but Tyrell did it anyway. Because, to him, to love another meant to have the desire to know them, and he’d never wanted to know _anyone_ more than he wanted to know Elliot.

He put the plastic bowl with the filthy popcorn mass under the arm, then turned away from Elliot — and went to open the door.

To leave.

God, it was almost physically painful.

 

 

Half an hour later, Tyrell was home and he stared at the paper in his hands.

“Upon consideration of the petition filed in this case,” he read aloud, “the Court finds that the safety or welfare of the Petitioner and/or a family member is endangered by Respondent...”

Johanna sat on the couch in the living room, crocheting something baby-blue. Probably, for the baby. She didn’t spare him a glance.

“What is this?” Tyrell demanded.

“You tell me,” Johanna shrugged, nonchalant. “A police officer delivered it for you.”

“When you said a police officer was looking for me, _this_ was not what I imagined,” Tyrell frowned. “I don’t understand. This... this is a restraining order.”

“Yes.”

“A _no contact_ order!” Tyrell threw the offending piece of paper on the nearby coffee table. “What is this? This isn’t him. He wouldn’t have done that! It... must be some kind of... mistake.”

“Are you sure?” Johanna regarded him with a glance. “Perhaps, you don’t know _him_ as well as you think.”

Tyrell clasped his hands together, an angry gesture — loud, brash. He needed something to cure his rapidly deteriorating mood, but what? Nothing could eclipse the fact that Elliot had petitioned for a restraining order against him.

Why would Elliot do such a thing!? Yes, Tyrell had sent Sutherland after him a month ago, with orders to find out where he lived and bring him to Tyrell’s office; but they had cleared up that misunderstanding, hadn’t they? And yesterday, when Tyrell came to visit, Elliot could have told him to get out, could have informed him of the order, but he didn’t. Instead... the way he acted, the way he looked at Tyrell... the things they did... no, it wasn’t the behavior of a man afraid for his safety.

Why? And when? It didn’t make sense.

“Yesterday, you promised to be home by ten,” Johanna said suddenly.

Tyrell swallowed. Yes, he had promised that; and he forgot the promise the moment he was with Elliot.

He messed up.

“I...” there was a clock on the coffee table, and it said 9:12 AM. Tyrell grasped at the last straw. “Yes, I did. I thought it was clear I meant ten in the morning. Did you wait up for me?”

“No. I went to bed half an hour past nine.” Johanna’s face appeared calm and benevolent, but Tyrell knew better. “And... you have just lied to me.”

“I swear, I haven’t!” terrified at once, Tyrell fell to his knees before her, but as soon as he reached for her — Johanna slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me. We have an agreement, Tyrell. Two simple rules: no lies, and no problems. Did you forget?”

“No...”

“Then you broke them intentionally.”

“No!”

She scoffed and looked away.

“Johanna,” Tyrell began, but she interrupted him.

“No. You lied to me. Several times.” Tyrell tried to protest, but Johanna shushed him. “Don’t add another stone to the scales, it’s not in your favor already. You lied to me, Tyrell, and you put our family in jeopardy. That _dreng_ you insist on seeing, that you lie to me about... he is clearly unstable, which makes him dangerous. So far, I do not see how this acquaintance benefits us at all.”

“You’re so busy looking above, you can’t see what’s right in front of you,” Tyrell smiled as he remembered Elliot saying those very words to him. “Trust me. He’s worth the trouble.”

Johanna frowned for a moment, displeased, then her face cleared into a smile, cold and controlled but beautiful nevertheless.

“Stay clear of him,” she said as she nodded towards the restraining order on the table. “Whatever you have with him isn’t worth a prison sentence.”

 _I wonder,_ Tyrell thought; but he kept his mouth shut on the matter.

“I’ll be careful,” he said instead. “It won’t happen again.”

Johanna didn’t reply.

There was nothing more to add, Tyrell figured. He didn’t feel like apologizing; Johanna would not have accepted his empty apologies anyway.

He got up on his feet.

The restraining order was lying on the table. Tyrell picked it up. A part of him wanted to tear the stupid piece of paper in halves, in quarters, in a hundred tiny pieces; to knock over the coffee table, to kick and scream and lash out.

He folded the paper and put it away in his pocket.

“By the way, I made _plättar_ for breakfast.” Johanna said. “You can have some. And clean yourself up. Your clothes is messy.”

“I will,” Tyrell replied. “Thank you.”

Once again, Johanna returned to her crocheting.

Tyrell went to the bedroom. There, alone, he sat down on the bed and pulled out the restraining order to read it again.

_Upon consideration of the petition filed in this case..._

No. No! It must have been a mistake. Elliot wouldn’t do this, he wouldn’t have petitioned anyone. Elliot was brave and radiant, he wasn’t a coward hiding behind a paper shield — if he truly hated Tyrell, he would have said as much to his face. And he definitely wouldn’t have promised to let Tyrell know him.

_In time..._

Tyrell threw the paper aside and plopped on the bed, face down.

That’s when his phone went off with a notification sound. Tyrell groaned; what was it, new mail? What could possibly be so important they had to contact him during the weekend--

Oh. OH.

A new attempt to sign in. Unsuccessful. Another one, and another one, and...

Elliot was trying to hack him!

Tyrell laughed. Oh, this was good news. Of course, Elliot was still interested in him; he had probably filed for a restraining order over a month ago. It was a silly misunderstanding, nothing more. He was going to leave Tyrell a note with an apology and a promise to withdraw the petition, and...

Wait, what’s this? One new email draft. With... a photo of an amusement park.

What on Earth was that about..?

 

* * *

 

Elliot was halfway through his coffee mug when his phone displayed a notification: he had new mail... from someone called “Uknowho Thisis” (cmon-wotzehelliot@yahoo.com).

He would have assumed it was Darlene — “what the hell, Elliot” was definitely one of his dearest sister’s catchphrases — if the subject of the email wasn’t specified as “D0NT U F0RGET AB0UT ME”, and there wasn’t a photo of a restraining order inside the email’s body.

Fuck. Did that mean Tyrell--

Wait a second. The paper in that photo... Elliot reached for his own copy, his hands shaking as he fumbled with it; he went line by line comparing the paper to the image on his phone.

The names were different.

On the photo, he was the Petitioner. On the paper in his hands, he was the Respondent.

But that’s impossible. Elliot had not petitioned for an “order of protection” — not against Tyrell, not against anyone... ever. Unless...

“Don’t look at me,” Mr. Robot threw his hands up in the air in a defensive gesture. “I didn’t do that.”

“Someone did that,” Elliot objected.

“Someone did this, as well,” Mr. Robot flicked the paper in Elliot’s hand, making it rustle. “And who might that be, I wonder...”

Elliot frowned.

“No. Why would he forge a court order that I never filed, then show it to me? He must have realized I would recognize it as fake.”

“Maybe he was careless, sloppy. He made a mistake, mixed up the names... thought you wouldn’t notice.”

“No. He’s better than that.”

“Eh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t put anything past that guy. He stole our popcorn bowl.”

“Did you see it? Did you see him leave?”

“I saw enough. Okay? Forget about him. He’s nothing but trouble.”

Elliot scoffed. A fitting description, perhaps, but he could describe pretty much everyone in his life with that.

He looked at the email from Tyrell again — and noticed it wasn’t empty. It said “??????????” just above the embedded photo.

Unless this was a trap, Tyrell was just as confused as he was.

Setting aside all hesitations, Elliot took a photo of his own order, edited the resulting picture to underline the names in red — and replied to the email with a “!!!!!” and the edited photo right from his phone.

It only took Tyrell a minute to reply.

“I don’t understand. What is this? I didn’t file a petition for a restraining order.”

“Neither did I. Looks like someone set us up.” Elliot wrote back, and added: “Did you get the instructions in the first draft?”

“I’ll be there. We should probably wear something inconspicuous, just in case.”

Good, Tyrell was not a complete moron.

Elliot went to his computer. Another proxy session, another TOR network identity; a new throwaway email address, and finally — he sent an email with no subject to _cmon-wotzehelliot_ , and all it said was “Guy Fawkes”.

After that, he deleted the account.


	4. Appletini

Shayla knocked on the door around 11 AM.

“Hey,” she smiled, and Elliot smiled back. “Are you up for a walk now? Angela stopped by a couple of hours ago, said you wanted to take a walk after sleeping in for a bit.”

Elliot weighed his options. Crawl back in his nest of a bed and sulk, waiting for Angela to return, trying to come up with an explanation for his strange behavior? Or hang out with Shayla?

“Why not,” Elliot chose the latter. Shayla had a cool dog; also, having a plan for tomorrow helped his sour mood lighten up a little. “Let me grab a hoodie, and let’s go.”

“Okay!” Shayla gave him a thumbs up. An uncharacteristic gesture; a sign of pretense. “Meet me downstairs in five.”

Elliot nodded, then closed the door to get dressed.

 

 

The walk with Shayla and Flipper started awkwardly. Elliot petted the dog, and that was about it — he reached his limit of “normal” interactions quickly, as usual. After that, he just walked and tried not to stick out like a sore thumb. Shayla didn’t mind his silence, though, as she was making up for it with her own chatter.

“There’s this new girl, Jess,” she was talking about her work. “Blonde, early twenties. Twenty three, I think. She’s cute. She paints her nails all different colors. We worked a shift together this week, she’s getting the hang of it…”

She talked some more, and Elliot listened.

“Why don’t you ask her out?” he said eventually, once Shayla ran out of breath talking about that Jess girl.

“She does her nails,” Shayla shrugged, as if it explained everything.

Elliot was confused for a moment, then decided it was as good an explanation as any. He hated Tyrell’s stupid neckties, why couldn’t Shayla hate long polished nails? Everyone had their reasons. Maybe Shayla simply didn’t want to share hers.

“Speaking of which, who’s the guy who almost broke your door down this morning?”

“Who?” Elliot blinked. “The police officer?”

“No, the other one.”

Shit. She’d seen Tyrell… wait. She’d seen Tyrell!

“Did you see him leave? Where did he go? Was I there, did I say anything to him?” he knew he couldn’t trust Mr. Robot. He knew it! “Was he alright? Was he scared or hurt?”

“Uh…” Shayla frowned warily. “I don’t know what exactly went down between the three of you. I only saw the big guy knocking on your door and the guy in the fancy suit leaving with him.”

Oh. Okay. The guy in the suit was obviously Tyrell; and the big guy… his driver/bodyguard/whoever that surly guy with a movie fetish was? Mr. Sutherland, was it. It must have been him, right? Who else. Yeah, that made sense. Tyrell’s guard came to pick him up.

Was he a part of that _agreement_ the Wellicks had? Was he spying on Tyrell for his wife?

No. That’s paranoia talking.

“Elliot?”

“Huh?” Oh, right. Shayla. “Did you say something?”

“Nevermind.” Shayla patted his shoulder with a sympathetic smile. “Say, wanna grab a drink after this? I know it’s the middle of the day, but it’s Saturday, so… I could go for an appletini.”

Appletini. It was their inside joke ever since their first outing three years ago, when Elliot had just moved there; Shayla and Angela had been drinking beer that night, while Mr. Robot had ordered an appletini. Elliot didn’t remember the rest of the night, although he remembered the taste of the cocktail. And… until yesterday, it was the last time Elliot had seen Mr. Robot.

Three years. For three years, Elliot thought it would have been the last time he’d seen Mr. Robot.

Too bad he was wrong.

“Elliot? Are you feeling well?”

“No,” he said honestly. “Let’s get drunk.”

Shayla laughed.

“Okay, that’s taking it a little too far. Unlike _some_ privileged assholes with a cushy white-collar job at the office, I have to work tomorrow.”

“Privileged, me?” Elliot smiled at the joke. “Have you seen my apartment?”

“Hmm…” Shayla squinted at him. “You know what? You’re right. Screw it. Let’s get drunk! Let’s get shitfaced like there’s no tomorrow! Shit’s gone to hell lately, so we might as well make it our end-of-the-world party.”

Elliot paused.

“Is the world ending?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

“No.”

No, there was no need. He knew the answer to that question. Shayla was right; the world at large was a continuous cataclysm produced by galaxies of people stumbling in the dark, the vast and never-ending universe, an eternal flame of self-sufficient destruction and unlikely attractions — electric, positive to negative, and the gravity of a thousand suns pulled on a single grain of sand with the same force the grain pulled all the stars right back… but Elliot’s world, his tiny little bubble of normalcy — it was breached and broken, shattered into dust.

Last night. A small glitch in his neatly programmed routine, a glitch that caused irreversible damage to his whole system.

It meant nothing, and it changed everything.

“I think I’m going to need at least a dozen appletinis.”

“You can always chug a bottle of vodka if you’re that desperate,” Shayla said.

Elliot felt a corner of his mouth twitch in response.

“Appletinis are goddamn delicious,” he said. “Vodka tastes like rug burn, vomit and regret.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

They shared a humorless laugh, and Flipper barked at them. Shayla picked the dog up in her arms.

“Let’s head back,” Elliot said as Shayla petted her dog. “You need to drop her off, and I need to pick up my wallet.”

Shayla nodded.

“Okay.”

And off they went.

 

 

Three appletinis in, and Elliot was already drunk.

“It’s bullshit,” Shayla was getting there, too.

“What?”

“All of it.”

That, Elliot could agree with. He waved for another appletini, and drank it in one go the moment it was provided. Shayla cheered for him.

“What happened to you?” Elliot asked in a surge of alcohol-powered boldness.

“Nothing,” Shayla said.

“But you’re sad. You’re sad since yesterday.”

Shayla shrugged.

“I’m sad for much longer than that.”

“Why?”

“Aren’t you?” she sipped her own drink. “I mean, what I’ve said is true. Nothing happens to us, Elliot. Nothing happens… we just exist. I serve tables for rich dickbags wearing suits that cost more than my monthly wage. I walk my dog, I bake cookies, I watch stupid superhero movies once in a while. Is this all there is to life? Serve and consume, rinse and repeat? It’s bullshit.”

Elliot downed another drink. How many was that, five, six total? His vision was starting to get blurry.

“My sister would have loved you,” he said.

Shayla twirled the glass in between her palms.

“Hm… Darlene, right? You hardly ever talk about her. What is she like?”

“You,” Elliot smiled. “And me, I guess. Only better. She’s always been better than me. I don’t know why she thinks the opposite.”

“Maybe she loves you.”

“I honestly don’t know if she does.” Elliot looked inside his empty glass. A single drop of liquid rolled around at the bottom, green and brilliant, toxic #00FF00. “I don’t even know if I do.”

“Do what, love her? Or yourself?”

“Either.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, do you.”

Elliot didn’t know what to say to that, so it was probably true.

Wanting normalcy, stuck in the outer fringes, not knowing how to participate — him, Shayla, Darlene, even Angela with her desperate attempts to pretend she had her life together — they were the same. Insular, isolated, each in the void of their own world; all of them, everyone. Unable to connect, like broken dial-up modems — slow and outdated, out of practice, out of purpose.

Lonely, no matter how close.

And Tyrell. Was he any different? Yes, he was. With him… there was a connection. For some reason, Elliot’s trust manager accepted Tyrell’s certificate. Despite all their misunderstandings and all the obstacles in their way.

He hated to admit that, with Tyrell, he didn’t feel lonely. Not for a moment.

“There’s this guy,” Elliot said. Shayla perked up, listening. “He has a wife. They’re about to have a baby. And then… there’s me.”

“And?” Shayla looked at him.

“I don’t know,” Elliot didn’t look at her. “I don’t know a lot of things, after all.”

“Yeah. We need another round.”

“I think I’m good, actually.”

“Hey, it was your idea!”

True.

“Fine. Last one.”

“That’s my boy! Listen, we’re going back to my place after this. I’ve gotta make you a… uh… what do you even wear under that hoodie of yours?”

“Clothes.” Elliot remembered the morning. “Bed sheets, sometimes.”

“I’ll make you a bed sheet. You can wear it, and then you can use it as a net to catch your mystery guy, and then the two of you can have a fumble in the sheets! See, all bases covered.”

“I don’t want to sleep with him. I just… want him to be happy.”

“You keep telling yourself that, my friend…” with a sage nod, Shayla elbowed him gently. “Another ‘tini?”

Oh, what the hell, why not.

 

 

Needless to say, when Angela showed up at his apartment sometime past 8 PM, Elliot wished the world truly had come to its bitter end.

Angela made a face when she saw him.

“Oh my god, Elliot, are you drunk?”

“No,” he lied.

“I can’t believe this.” Angela shook her head. “What is it with everyone today? First, Ollie forgets our anniversary, then we can’t get a reservation for three hours. Then I get called to work because someone didn’t file some stupid papers properly, and apparently it’s an emergency that needs to be taken care of immediately… Then I ran into Darlene, of all people, and she’s so busy arguing with someone she barely acknowledged me. I ask if she wants to catch up and she blows me off. And now this! Can’t _anything_ go right today?”

“Wait, you ran into Darlene?”

“Yeah, apparently she moved to the city as well. But we didn’t get to exchange numbers, she was busy with that woman, and Ollie pulled me away.”

“Ollie is an idiot.”

Angela scoffed.

“Elliot, seriously! I’m not in a good mood right now. It’s not the time for you to badmouth my boyfriend.”

“Is it ever?”

“Look. I know Ollie can be clueless or absent-minded sometimes, a little, perhaps, but he loves me. And he is a good man.”

“Good men don’t cheat on their girlfriends.”

Brows furrowed, Angela crossed her arms.

“Ollie _doesn’t_ cheat on me.”

“Yeah,” Elliot rolled his eyes. “And Tyrell Wellick doesn’t cheat on his wife either.”

“What does Tyrell Wellick have to do with this?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

His head was spinning, so Elliot sat down on the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes to give himself some much needed rest.

Angela walked up to the kitchen table and rustled with… a plastic bag? Belatedly, Elliot remembered his friend had brought him something this morning — some food he totally forgot about.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he explained before she could say anything. “I’m sorry.”

Angela sighed.

“Figures. Why do I even bother?”

“Don’t be mad. Please,” Elliot opened his eyes. “I’ll eat it right now if you want me to.”

“No, I just want you to take care of yourself!” everything raised in her — voice, arms, eyebrows. She looked like an angry cat hissing at a dog twice its size. “Honestly, how do you live like this? Did you eat _anything_ today?”

“I told you, I wasn’t hungry.”

“It’s not normal, Elliot.”

“ _I’m_ not normal!” he didn’t mean to yell at her, but he couldn’t hold it anymore. That pounding fear in the back of his mind, it gnawed at him to break free. “I’m not… fucking… normal, Angela. I’m crazy and fucked up, and a bowl of chicken soup is not going to fix that.”

“It’s not supposed to! It’s just food. So you don’t starve to death, for god’s sake!”

Elliot closed his eyes again.

“Listen… I’m sorry you’re having a bad day,” he said. “Me too. Can we please not take it out on each other?”

There was a short creek of a wooden chair being dragged across the wooden floor.

“I guess,” Angela said quietly, with another sigh, as she apparently sat down at the table. “Sorry. What was that you told me about a restraining order this morning? Did you clear that up?”

“Sort of.”

“Tyrell Wellick isn’t angry you’ve hacked him, then?”

“No.” Elliot smiled. “He uses my name as his password, can you believe that?”

“What? Yeah, that’s… odd.”

“I know, right?” he chuckled. Angela didn’t respond. She was probably freaking out. Did she even believe him? “And the order is probably a prank or something. Someone saw us talking and decided it was an opportunity to put me down.”

“I don’t think anyone at Allsafe would…”

“I didn’t think my old colleagues would lock me up in a server room for a weekend, either,” Elliot interrupted. “Yet here we are. Just my luck, I guess. I tend to bring out the worst in people.”

He half-expected her to protest, but Angela didn’t say anything. Elliot shrugged.

“Or, maybe, it’s one of his lawyers trying to play it safe. He offered me a job at Evil Corp, you know. Did I ever tell you about that?”

“No, you did not.” Elliot couldn’t tell if Angela sounded cold or concerned. “What did you tell him?”

“That I’m happy where I am.”

Elliot said that, then he laughed. Happy! What a lie! He laughed so hard he ran out of breath and fell over, on his side, his cheek slamming into the — thankfully, soft — arm of the couch.

“God, you’re drunk,” Angela said with exasperated fondness. “I should probably go. It’s no use talking to you like that.”

“No, stay. I am perfectly sober,” Elliot slurred. “Mind awake, body asleep. But mind awake. Crystal clear. One hundred percent. Right there with you.”

Angela chuckled.

“Sure you are.”

“Definitely,” Elliot confirmed. “And you should dump Ollie. He’s an ass. He hit on me.”

“Did he now.”

“Yeah. Touched my shoulder, Netflix and chill, and everything.” Elliot cringed at the memory. “He’s a moron.”

“You’re a moron.”

“Yeah, but I love you.” Elliot said. “And Shayla, I love Shayla. And Gideon, too. And Darlene.”

“How much did you drink?”

“Not nearly enough.” He rolled over to his back, eyes still closed. The fuzzy darkness under his eyelids was full of maroon highlights, comforting. “I think Shayla might be in love with you. She gets so sad when you visit. But she could love Darlene if she tried. They’d make a good pair. Do you think I could love her? If I really tried. I think I could try.”

“If a lot of people love each other, the world would be a better place to live,” Angela said. Her voice was soft and distant.

“Amen,” Elliot said. “Tyrell loves me. I didn’t tell him, but… I…”

He blacked out.

 

 

The morning came like an icebreaker through a solid block of ice. Loud, bright, devastating.

Elliot opened his eyes, and he was alone.

There was a blanket on the floor near the sofa — apparently, Angela had covered him so he wouldn’t catch a cold, but he’d thrown it off thrashing in his sleep. Typical. He wasted all her efforts to take care of him, but what could he do? It’s not like he did it on purpose.

She was a good friend, but they simply weren’t the right fit to coexist this close.

Strangely enough, Elliot wasn’t particularly hangover: no headache, no shaking hands, no foul taste in his mouth. All in all, he felt pretty normal.

It was barely past 10 AM, which meant he had the time to take a shower and freshen up before seeing Tyrell — he’d set the meeting at 12:00 PM. He still had the appointment with Krista scheduled at 4 PM, so it left a wide enough margin.

Everything was fine. It was.

Unless it was a setup, and instead of Tyrell he was going to find a police officer there. Then — goodbye, freedom.

It was worth the risk. Wasn’t it? What was he hoping to achieve? Return the ring to Tyrell, and then what?

What do you do when you try a solution that might work, only it doesn’t work? What do you do when you hit a dead end?

No. All those doubts, all the anxiety — it was nothing but a DDOS attack on his nervous system, his brain sabotaging itself by overflowing the buffer with operations.

He needed to shut that shit down.

Don’t think about Tyrell. Don’t think about putting the ring on his finger — a symbolic return of the property to its rightful owner, the ring to Tyrell, Tyrell to his wife. Don’t think about kissing him instead, of holding him again and meeting his hot needy mouth with one of his own, just as eager.

Easier said than done.

 

 

At 11:45 AM, Elliot was there. Coney Island, Wonder Wheel.

He bought a bunch of tickets to the Ferris wheel, then gave in to the temptation and bought a stick of cotton candy. He couldn’t even eat it — he was wearing the mask, as he’d promised to Tyrell he would; technically, it wasn’t Guy Fawkes, but it was what most people would recognize it as.

So, what gives.

Bypassers gave him weird looks. Elliot didn’t really give a shit. He stood there, with his cotton candy and his roll of attraction tickets, wearing his mask and the old coat that used to belong to his father — as a subtle “fuck you” to Mr. Robot, because _fuck him_ — and he waited for Tyrell.

What he did not expect was a flannel-wearing man with a beard and reflective aviator sunglasses covering most of his face to suddenly approach him.

“ _Bonsoir,_ Elliot.”

Elliot had to do a double take before he realized that yes, indeed, that man was Tyrell Wellick. He gaped; thankfully, behind the mask, it was impossible to tell.

“You realize _bonsoir_ means _good night,_ right?” Elliot said trying to keep his cool. “It’s noon.”

“It’s always midnight somewhere,” Tyrell replied.

“Not here.”

Tyrell laughed. His beard moved unnaturally, and Elliot realized it was fake. Of course… people didn’t just grow beards overnight. Meanwhile, Tyrell plucked a pinch of cotton candy from Elliot’s stick; Elliot thought he was going to eat it, but instead — Tyrell leaned in and lifted the mask from Elliot’s face slightly, just enough to expose his mouth — and then he brought the candy up to Elliot’s lips, fingertips brushing against the lower lip.

The closest they could get to a kiss right now.

Elliot swallowed the offering, but made sure to take a step back and put the mask back in its place as soon as possible.

“We can’t risk being seen together,” he reminded.

“Yes, we have to be careful now…” Tyrell sighed. “I checked with my lawyer yesterday, and it’s not a prank or a forgery. The restraining orders are real.”

Was it good news, or bad? Elliot couldn’t decide.

“Let’s take a ride,” he gestured towards the Ferris wheel. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, I’d love to,” Tyrell said.

They traded in their the tickets and got in.

Once inside the cabin and up in the air, Elliot pulled off his mask — it was getting stuffy. Tyrell took off his sunglasses as well; the beard stayed. He didn’t look bad with it. Just… odd.

“Is that a fake beard?” Elliot couldn’t resist asking.

Tyrell shrugged.

“An old Halloween costume for one of the E-Corp’s parties. The beard, the shirt… There was an axe, too, but I didn’t take it with me today. Obviously.”

“You… went to a Halloween party… as a lumberjack?”

“Says the guy wearing a Guy Fawkes mask unironically,” Tyrell smiled. “The attendance was mandatory, by the way. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but there was this whole _thematic adventure_ , so we had the roles assigned to us… And no, I wasn’t a lumberjack, I was an axe murderer. One of the bad guys who trapped the victims, our subordinates — they were supposed to escape. I have no idea how it reduces stress, or promotes teamwork, or whatever, but just as well. Such is corporate party life. Anyway, I kept the costume because Johanna said I looked good in it.”

Allowing himself a moment of honesty, Elliot smirked.

“You do.”

“Well, it’s not my usual style, but…” Tyrell actually blushed. Elliot couldn’t help but smile again. “What about your mask, where did you get it?”

He considered telling Tyrell about _‘Careful Massacre’_ , but decided against it — it wasn’t the time to discuss movies.

“Around. Does it matter?” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring. “This is what we need to discuss.”

Tyrell flinched and clutched his own left hand helplessly, apparently only now noticing the ring was absent.

“You left it on my sink yesterday,” Elliot explained. “I wanted to return it to you.”

“Thank you,” Tyrell said as he accepted the ring. Elliot couldn’t help but notice he slipped it back on his ring finger as soon as he had it. “I didn’t realize it was gone.”

Elliot frowned.

“You said you wouldn’t care if you lost it.”

“I do care that you’ve chosen to return it, nevertheless,” Tyrell put his hand (the right one, without the ring) on Elliot’s knee. “Thank you, Elliot.”

Biting down on his lip, Elliot had to restrain himself from the urge to grab Tyrell’s wrist and pull him closer, and kiss him right then and there.

“Where did the court order come from?” he whispered, trying to focus on the main issue. “Who petitioned for it, and why?”

“I don’t know, but both orders are signed by the same judge,” Tyrell said quietly. He didn’t move; his gaze was drawn to Elliot’s mouth, and he stared at him intently. Throat suddenly dry, Elliot licked his lips, and Tyrell let out an audible breath. “Forget about it. My lawyer will sort everything out.”

“How can I forget? I’m risking a prison sentence just being here with you.”

“So am I,” Tyrell ran his hand up Elliot’s thigh, and for a moment Elliot squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed Tyrell’s shoulder to steady himself. His attempt to even out his breath failed miserably as Tyrell’s hand crept dangerously close to where he wanted it the _least_ and the _most_. “I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

“You’re insane,” Elliot said.

Tyrell kissed him. Despite his better judgement, Elliot moaned and kissed back.

Fuck, they were both insane.

When Elliot opened his eyes, he saw Mr. Robot sitting on the opposite seat and smoking a cigarette. Mr. Robot grinned at him with the leeriest smile possible, and Elliot flipped him off.

“I’d take it elsewhere if I were you,” Mr. Robot pointed at Tyrell with the tip of his cigarette. “Which I am, by the way. So this is more of a fair warning than a friendly suggestion. I don’t want us all to get arrested for public indecency.”

“One more ride,” Elliot said. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” Tyrell asked.

“There’s a place nobody knows about,” Mr. Robot took a drag of his cigarette. “An arcade, not far from here. You’ll love it there.”

“I’ll love it anywhere with you,” Tyrell whispered before he kissed Elliot again.

In between kisses, Elliot frowned.

“Stop talking to him,” he thought pointedly at Mr. Robot.

“Why, jealous?” Mr. Robot put out the cigarette and threw away the butt, down through the grating of the cabin window. “Fine, I’ll leave you two alone. But unless you want to get your dick sucked in a Ferris wheel cabin suspended 150 feet in the air, I suggest you move to the arcade, and soon.”

Elliot was tempted to say, “maybe I _do_ want to get my dick sucked in a Ferris wheel cabin suspended 150 feet in the air!” just to spite Mr. Robot — but, of course, he didn’t. First of all, he couldn’t risk accidentally saying it out loud — knowing Tyrell, he’d take it as an invitation and might get on his knees to actually do that; and, second of all, Elliot wasn’t into crazy sex scenarios.

So he pulled away.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he said.

“Lead the way,” Tyrell replied.

 

 

Elliot wasn’t sure how he knew about this place. He could swear he’d never set foot in there before, but everything looked familiar; probably Mr. Robot’s doing.

Did it mean Mr. Robot had been up and about, running merrily around the city during those three years Elliot thought him gone? Fuck. That’s a scary thought.

“What is this place?” Tyrell asked.

Elliot turned around to look at him. Now that they were alone, just the two of them inside the abandoned arcade — a dark, secluded building lit up only by an array of colorful lights — Tyrell finally took off his fake beard. He tossed it aside, and it landed on top of an old pinball machine; Elliot put his mask beside it.

“I have no idea what this place is,” Elliot said truthfully. “I heard a rumour it was haunted, or something.”

“But you’re sure that nobody will catch us here?”

“You said you were willing to risk it if I was.” Elliot paused. “So… here we are.”

Looking around, Tyrell walked across the room. It was big, spacious; not much in the furniture department, but, aside from the gaming machines, there was a desk and a couple of chairs. Elliot simply stood in his place by the entrance, eyes following Tyrell — he didn’t know what else to do.

“I don’t understand,” having come full circle, Tyrell finally came to a stop in front of Elliot. “Are we here to play games?”

Elliot shrugged.

“If you want.”

“No,” Tyrell shook his head. “I want you. No games.”

His flannel shirt was red and black. Elliot reached to unbutton it, but Tyrell caught his hand.

“Elliot.” For a moment, they simply held each other’s gaze. Tyrell’s eyes glistened with pale gold in the twilight glimmer of the dancing yellow lights; he held Elliot’s hand, stepping closer, then guided it up to his shoulder. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” Elliot whispered, looking up at Tyrell. The two of them, so close, almost in a dancing position; the fabric under Elliot’s palms, coarse and unfamiliar, nothing like the silky smooth shirt from the other night; Tyrell’s hand on top of his hand, and the other — on his waist, intimate, warm. “This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tyrell admitted. “But you’ve never told me what _you_ want.”

“Do you really care?”

“Yes. I do.”

Elliot sighed, letting his hands fall. Tyrell released him with no attempt to stop him from pulling away.

“What do I want?” Elliot murmured, more to himself than to answer the question. “Damned if I know.”

He walked over to the bar and leaned on it, elbows forward, back arched. He knew Tyrell was watching him, but suddenly didn’t care.

What _did_ he want? Two days ago, he could have answered: I want to be normal, I want to be happy, I want the people I care about to be happy and safe. And it was true, it was, just not right now.

Because, right now, all he wanted was this very moment.

Electricity. The one connection that was inevitable, inescapable; a cord leading to the power source, and without it — no machine could work for long. A mess of metal and plastic and dead rocks without the lightning to ignite them. Tied down, yet free in that captivity, unity, that one primary — vital — connection.

All he wanted was a never-ending now.

When Tyrell approached him and touched him, Elliot relaxed. He leaned into the touch, he even closed his eyes.

“Do you want this?” Tyrell asked in a soft voice, his hand a warm presence on the small of Elliot’s back, tracing circles with his thumb, unable to stop caressing him. Perhaps, because Elliot didn’t want him to stop.

“I allow your existence,” he breathed out, and he didn’t care how crazy it sounded. “You catch my thoughts before I can finish them. With you, I don’t feel lonely anymore. I see you in my dreams and I can’t chase you away. I don’t want you disappearing. All my life, I wanted to save the world — from invisible monsters, from Evil Corp, from greed and corruption... from people like you. But I can’t even save myself.”

“You consider me greedy and corrupt, then?” Tyrell asked. “Am I your enemy number one?”

“No, I am,” Elliot said. “You... I don’t know what you are.”

He turned around to face Tyrell. For the millionth time, they looked each other in the eyes, and Elliot couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or cry, or run away screaming.

He didn’t move, and neither did Tyrell.

“What about your wife?” Elliot asked.

“What about her?” Tyrell echoed back at him.

“Do you think she noticed?” Elliot nodded at Tyrell’s left hand where the wedding band was wrapped snugly around his ring finger. “Isn’t she angry with you?”

“No. She’s known from the start. I don’t keep secrets from her.” Tyrell frowned. “As for the ring… it’s not the original we used on our wedding day — those we keep locked up in a safe. Johanna has no reason to get mad at me for losing a duplicate.”

“I’d be mad.”

“You’re not her.”

Yes. That’s true.

“Don’t talk about my wife,” Tyrell said. “Not now.”

“If not now, when?”

“Later?”

“Later never comes.” Elliot looked away, letting the subject be dropped. “A month ago, I hacked you.”

Tyrell smiled.

“I know.”

“I know you know,” Elliot said. “Why did you change your password?”

Another smile.

“Take a guess, Elliot Alderson.”

Elliot looked him in the eyes again. There was not a shadow of doubt in Tyrell; he was radiant and determined, brilliant, full of clarity and _the will to take_.

“Are you going to strangle me?” Elliot whispered.

“What? No,” Tyrell cocked his head to one side, quizzical. “Why would you say that?”

“Isn’t it the perfect moment? We’re in an empty building. Nobody knows we’re here. Nobody can hear us. Nobody will find my body until it’s too late. Nobody is going to miss me.”

“I would miss you,” Tyrell grasped him by the shoulders. “Elliot, what makes you think I want to hurt you?”

“This.”

Slowly he raised his hand; it was shaking. He put it on Tyrell’s chest over the heart and felt it beat under his fingers.

“Doesn’t it hurt for you?” he whispered. “Are you not in pain?”

Tyrell smiled.

“I am in love,” he took Elliot’s hand and pulled it up to his mouth to kiss it. “With you.”

“I am the bug in your perfect system. Your malware.” Elliot put the other hand over his own heart. “Kill me, or embrace me.”

“I love you,” Tyrell repeated.

And so the world ended, finally falling apart, and Elliot allowed himself to kiss Tyrell first.


	5. Kaleidoscope of Lights

Elliot didn’t go to his appointment with Krista. A shit decision, really, no doubt about that. Considering he'd started seeing Mr. Robot again, he probably needed therapy now more than ever, and yet…

He didn’t go. He texted her a lie about an emergency at work. She believed him, or pretended to believe him; they agreed to reschedule the appointment for the next weekend. Did it mean Elliot wasn't completely lost and out of his mind? Or was he slipping further into premeditated madness?

Down on the floor with Tyrell snuggling close to him, Elliot found he didn’t care much to find the answers to those questions.

And yeah, they had sex. Right there on the fucking floor. And Tyrell, apparently, had planned on it: he was prepared, he brought supplies. Which was good, because Elliot hadn’t thought about that, but also — just how self-assured _was_ that guy? Honestly.

And now there they were. On the floor of the empty arcade, both naked and sweaty and out of breath, Tyrell’s hair a messy bird nest, Elliot on his back still shivering with pleasure as he stared at the ceiling, his mind blank.

Yeah… there they were.

“I’ve ruined another set of your clothes,” Elliot said quietly once he got enough presence of mind to speak.

Tyrell smiled.

“It’s a good thing I am not wearing my best suit this time, then.”

True. That night they’d spent together Tyrell had been dressed for a party; today he was wearing an old Halloween costume. How the hell he managed to look presentable in it, was a fucking mystery.

Would it be too bold to say Tyrell’s best suit was his _birthday suit_? Yes, probably, yes. Also, that’s lame. Also, Elliot did like how Tyrell looked all dressed up… for him…

Shit. Did he just mentally admit he actually _liked_ the guy?

“By the way, I have your popcorn bowl in my car,” Tyrell said. “I tried to clean up the mess that morning, but I couldn’t find your trash can… I should probably return it to you. The bowl, I mean.”

“You can keep it.”

“I might,” Tyrell grinned. “As a token of your affection.”

“Lame. What's next, are you going to steal my underwear?”

“No, I already have a token from you. Now it’s your turn to take something of mine.”

“I did take something of yours. Five minutes ago.”

Tyrell laughed. Then he reached for his shirt and pulled out a set of keys from the breast pocket. He took one of the trinkets off the keychain and handed it to Elliot.

“Here.”

“It’s… a gun,” Elliot held the accessory between his fingers. It was black, small and flat, made of metal. A rather simple thing, not something he would expect from a man like Tyrell. Then again, Tyrell made a habit of defying his expectations. “Why are you giving it to me?”

“I’ve had this trinket since I was thirteen.” Tyrell said. “It was my very first keychain accessory… Keep it, if you want. Or throw it out. It’s just a piece of junk I’ve been meaning to get rid of.”

Elliot smiled.

“I’ll throw it out, then.”

“Absolutely. Do it.”

“You should throw away my popcorn bowl as well. My father bought it for me years ago. It’s old and ugly. It belongs in the trash.”

“I might use it as a waste bin.”

Elliot sat up. What the fuck were they doing? Pretending nothing mattered, talking about clothes and popcorn bowls, and trash cans. Why? There were way more serious things they needed to discuss, and yet… he didn’t want to. He wanted to sit there and talk about nonsense.

With a sigh, Elliot pocketed the trinket Tyrell had given him.

“Do you have to go home tonight?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Tyrell sat up as well. “I wish I could stay with you. Oh, how I wish… But it’s not safe. If we get caught, we are going to get in trouble. A lot of trouble. Trust me, when my lawyer clears everything up…”

“You lawyers could be the very people who set us up!” Elliot protested. Tyrell laughed at that, as if he made a joke; Elliot huffed. There was nothing funny about their situation. “I mean, who else? Who has the means and the motive to do it?”

“I don’t know.” Tyrell frowned. “But I _will_ find out.”

“I’ve told you, it must be someone from Evil Corp. Maybe they’re trying to get you arrested to get your job.”

“There are easier ways to get a man fired. And if they have enough money to bribe a judge, I doubt they _need_ my job. I’m not the CTO yet, only a vice. I barely make half a million per year.”

 _Only_ a vice. _Barely._ Fucking _tragic._

“Maybe they just don’t like you…”

“Why wouldn’t they like me?” Tyrell made a scrunchy face and pouted, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Elliot shook his head. Of course; an arrogant prick like Tyrell Wellick wasn’t capable of comprehending the idea of someone in all honesty disliking him. And with the kind of people who worked for Evil Corp? He probably fitted right in. Why would he doubt they adored him if he was just like them?

But he wasn’t. He was different, or they wouldn’t have been here right now.

“Maybe you stepped on someone’s shoes?” still, Elliot barely held back the sarcastic undertone from his voice. “Yelled at the wrong guy, got promoted over some social climber… that sort of thing.”

“I don’t think so. I fired some idiots recently, but they have neither the brains nor the wallets big enough for such an elaborate scheme. Our lawyers, of course, wouldn’t risk a scandal, that’s why they were present in the first place. Let’s see… There’s Scott Knowles. An ambitious man, competitive to a fault. He knows that I’m better than him when it comes to technical skills, so he might resort to scheming and backstabbing. But I doubt he would start trouble before Terry announced his retirement. Then there is another man… what’s his name? Anwar something. Can’t recall… we had an encounter, of sorts. But it was months ago, I’m sure he has long since moved on.”

“What sort of encounter?”

Elliot knew he shouldn’t have asked. Still, he did. Because… because he knew the answer. And Tyrell’s shifty side-look and silence full of guilt was all the confirmation he didn’t need, didn’t want, but asked for anyway.

“It was one time.” Tyrell said a moment later. “And it was nothing special. I simply needed access to his phone, and it was the easiest way to get it.”

Elliot shrugged.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Tyrell reached for him, and Elliot almost flinched away. Almost… but, ultimately, he didn’t. He let Tyrell touch his face, caress him. “Elliot, I know I’ve dragged you into this. I am sorry. And I am going to fix this, I promise.”

“And then what?” Elliot asked quietly before he could stop himself. It was a dangerous question; Tyrell tensed up at once. Still, Elliot decided: fuck it. He opened his mouth, he might as well finish. “Say the restraining orders are gone. What happens next? Have you thought about that?”

“I have, actually.”

“And?”

“I want you to meet Johanna. Once she sees you, she will understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Our connection. She’ll see how much you mean to me, and she will understand that I need this.”

_That self-absorbed motherfucker._

“And what if she doesn’t understand? What if she doesn’t _want_ to understand?”

“She must. See, Elliot, I believe in fate. There is a reason we met. We belong together, you and I, it’s our destiny. We are meant to be. Johanna… she has her own ways. She will understand.”

Shit. And here Elliot thought _he_ was supposed to be the crazy one.

Fickle colorful lights of the arcade painted Tyrell with stripes of purple and lime-yellow; his eyes were dark, and the smile on his face looked positively deranged up close. And still, despite the maniacal glint and that gibberish of a speech, Elliot was tempted to kiss him again. The only reason Elliot didn’t do it was he figured it would lead to round two, and he wasn’t up for another ride just yet.

“You’re so full of yourself,” Elliot mumbled instead.

“Why, do you want me to be full of someone else?” Tyrell teased him with a playful touch right above the hip bone.

“Fuck off,” Elliot hissed.

Tyrell moved away slightly, and his hand slid lower, to Elliot’s knee, to give him some space. Not too much, but then again Elliot didn’t really want Tyrell to abandon him completely.

“Whatever happens, when the time comes, I’m sure we can figure something out,” Tyrell said. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? We’ll burn that bridge once we cross it.”

Yeah. If Tyrell was right about one thing, it was that now, at this moment, a conversation about the future they might not even get… was pointless.

“What exactly is your lawyer going to do about the orders?” Elliot asked.

“My lawyer shall talk to the judge and provide me with the name of the petitioner — the real one. Once we know who we’re dealing with, we’ll know what to do.”

“How long will that take?”

“I’m not sure. A couple of days, I suppose. Why, do you have a better idea?”

No, hacking the court database would be useless. The records would show the same names the papers did: their own.

However, Elliot could work another angle…

“Give me the list of names of all your colleagues you managed to piss off. I’ll do some research.”

“Elliot, I piss off a lot of people. It comes with being such a model of perfection, people can’t help but envy me!” Tyrell chuckled, and Elliot rolled his eyes. _What a narcissist._ “Seriously, that’s over a dozen of people. Are you going too hack them all, like you hacked me? Elliot… even I think it’s an overkill. Not to mention it’s illegal.”

“We’re already breaking the law,” Elliot shrugged. “I just wanna play it safe. Think about it: what if the judge cannot, or will not, give up the name? They refuse, and we’re back to the drawing board? No. We need a backup plan.”

“Fine. You’re right. I’ll send you an email if I think of someone. Better yet, why don’t you come to our office and I’ll grant you whatever access you need? You’re not allowed to visit my place of work, but E Corp owns more than one building. I can set up a place for you to work from, we’ll send a tech support request to Allsafe…”

“No. I work best from an environment I can control. And we don’t want to draw attention to what we’re doing.”

“Right.” Tyrell sighed. “It’s going to be a long week…”

“If you can manage to sneak into my place without anyone noticing… well,” Elliot smirked. “I promise I won’t call the police.”

Tyrell grinned at him, then leaned in for a kiss.

 

 

When Elliot finally got back to his apartment, it was way past any reasonable hour. His body was a wreck, scraped and bruised all over like he’d fallen down a flight of stairs; except this fall felt good. Really, really good.

Home welcomed him with darkness, dry heat, a clanking radiator…

…and Mr. Robot chilling on his bed.

“Heya, kiddo. Had fun?”

“Yes.” Elliot switched the lights on first, then went to kick the radiator into working properly. “Get out of my bed, man.”

“What gives? We literally inhabit the same body,” with no apparent intention to get up, Mr. Robot pulled out a magazine. “Go on, make us dinner, sit down, and let’s talk. You know, like we used to.”

Elliot weighed the pros and cons of arguing with a hallucination, and decided it wasn’t worth it. Not at the moment, at least. He was in a good mood, Mr. Robot appeared to be uncharacteristically peaceful as well, and Elliot didn’t want to ruin that.

To be honest… it was kind of nice.

“I’ll heat up the soup Angela brought yesterday.” Elliot said. “Do you want some?”

“I want some, alright. Some of what you got a couple of hours ago,” Mr. Robot snorted. “Not some fucking soup.”

Elliot decided to ignore that comment.

He walked up to the fridge and took out the soup Angela had prudently put in there last night. It was inside a half-opaque plastic container with a blue lid, and it seemed safe to consume. Making a mental note to return the container to Angela later, Elliot put it in the microwave and pressed the minute button twice.

“Why are you really here right now?” he finally asked Mr. Robot who yawned in reply.

“Aren’t you bored with having the same conversation over and over again? I thought we established that. I’m here because you want me here, because you _need_ me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I’ve managed fine without you for three years.”

“Fine? This is what you call fine?” Mr. Robot gestured at the broken radiator, at the shabby walls sloughing flecks of dull green paint, and laughed. “You haven’t _lived_ for three years! Face it, son, you’re miserable. You let your life crumble before your eyes, and you don’t do Jack or Jill to fix it. You hate yourself so much you’ve crawled into this hole and buried yourself here. Only it doesn’t work like that. Lying on the floor crying doesn’t help change anything! Taking action does.”

“And what action do you want me to take?”

Mr. Robot jumped at that.

“Get on your computer, and let’s hack some bastards!” he proclaimed sneering with a mix of gleeful anger and mean-spirited excitement. Gloating, premature and immature. “We gotta know who set us up. I bet it’s that Anwar guy. He saw the two of you, got jealous…”

“Jealous enough to spend several months’ salary on a bribe?”

“Who even knows it was a bribe? The cocksucker could’ve--”

“Enough!” Elliot interrupted. Mr. Robot was starting to annoy him. “We don’t know it’s Anwar, and if it isn’t — I don’t want you to insult an innocent man while you’re projecting your own feelings onto him.”

“Our feelings, you mean.”

“You don’t know shit about my feelings.”

The microwave beeped: the soup was hot and ready for consumption. Elliot grabbed the container and put it on the table. Just as he was about to dig through a drawer for a clean spoon, Mr. Robot appeared right beside him holding a spoon in his hand.

“Here.”

“Thanks.” Elliot wasn’t certain how it worked, but it was nice to have someone look out for him. Even an imaginary someone.

He sat down, opened the container and started eating. The soup was thick and tasty, and Elliot made another mental note to thank Angela properly.

Mr. Robot was sitting across the table, staring.

“Do you want something?” Elliot asked.

“I’ve told you what I want,” Mr. Robot tapped against the table, a gesture of impatience. “I get that you’re tired, kiddo, after the _workout_ you’ve had, but we have things to do. Big things! And I’m not talking about--”

“Will you stop,” Elliot didn’t let Mr. Robot finish that sentence, he knew he didn’t want to hear it during a meal. He’d had enough choking hazards for a day. “Let me get some rest, okay? You want to hack that guy so badly, fine. Let’s hack him. I’ll roll along with it, if only to prove his innocence.”

“We have to go to work tomorrow,” Mr. Robot reminded him.

“All the better. We’ll have Allsafe’s security access to Evil Corp’s network, their email servers…”

“And if someone catches you?”

“Who? Nobody cares what I’m doing, as long as all the scheduled tasks are done. I’ll have to attend the staff meeting in the morning, and then we can do whatever we want.”

Mr. Robot grumbled under his breath, but a moment later he shrugged and took off his cap only to put it back on slightly askew.

“Fine, you’ve convinced me,” he said as he grinned at Elliot. “Tomorrow, first thing after lunch, we’re hacking Evil Corp.”

“Tomorrow,” Elliot agreed.

Then he returned to his soup.

 

 

It was barely past 7 AM, and someone was inside his apartment.

Elliot was in his bed, curled under the cover; he had been asleep, but not anymore. He heard footsteps, and they didn’t belong to Mr. Robot — they were a woman’s footsteps, judging by the sharp clanks of high heels over the floor… not stilettos but definitely not a man’s loafers either. Plus, the accompanying fresh flowery smell suggested the feminine nature of his guest as well.

For a moment Elliot wondered if it could have been Angela, but the perfume was too sweet for her, the footsteps too heavy. Angela was light on her feet, a rabbit hopping away from hungry predators, her feet barely touched the ground; this mystery woman? She carried herself with dignity, the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she walked with power and confidence, each step a kick in the face of the Earth.

The footsteps approached him, and Elliot swallowed, pretending to be asleep, squeezing his eyes shut.

He didn’t fool her.

“Good morning,” the woman said in a deceitfully sweet voice. She had a slight accent, but Elliot couldn’t quite place it. “My apologies for letting myself in, but the door was unlocked.”

Elliot opened his eyes, and he saw her.

Johanna Wellick.

“What are you doing here?” Elliot whispered, his voice hoarse from slumber.

She smiled, full red lips and a flash of perfectly even white teeth, a smile that didn’t reach her cold blue eyes in the slightest.

“I’m here because we need to talk.” she paused, regarding him with a glance. Even under the cover, Elliot became hyper aware of his lack of clothes at once, and it wasn’t a good feeling. He huddled up under her gaze, and Johanna smiled again. “Just talk. For now.”

“I need to get dressed,” Elliot said.

“Go on, then,” Johanna replied. “I’ll wait.”

She turned away and walked towards the couch. She paused there before sitting down, and even though Elliot couldn’t see the expression on her face, he could swear he noticed hesitation. He wondered if she would have chosen to sit on his shabby furniture at all if it wasn’t for her condition. Her belly looked heavy, at least seven months in, maybe eight… not that Elliot could tell precisely.

Elliot sat up, holding onto the cover, and that’s when he noticed a man at the door. The Wellicks’ driver, Mr. Sutherland, stood there with his arms crossed.

“Hello,” Elliot said.

Mr. Sutherland nodded at him but said nothing.

Elliot wrapped the bed sheet over his body and stood up. Both Johanna and her guard were watching him, her expression akin to something resembling cold curiosity while his was blank. Elliot made a point not to meet their eyes and padded towards the bathroom, picking up a set of clothes on the way, and closed the door once inside.

In the bathroom he leaned over the sink, grabbing its edges not to fall over, and threw up. It was mostly bile, and it left an awful taste in his mouth. He palmed the tap on, then just stood there, running water masking his raspy heaved breaths.

Once he composed himself enough to look up, in the mirror, he swore soundlessly but emphatically, and his reflection moved its lips with the same silent desperation. Fuck, it whispered back at him.

What was Tyrell’s wife doing here? What did she want to talk about? Why did she bring Sutherland with her? Why did they break into Elliot’s apartment? And where the fuck was Mr. Robot when Elliot needed him?

Fuck. He needed to calm down.

Elliot forced himself to wash up quickly, splashing himself with cold water — unpleasant but effective. He brushed his teeth, too, and then he put on a (relatively) fresh T-shirt and pants.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Johanna was still on the couch, seemingly in the same position she’d been the moment Elliot hid from her, as if she didn’t move a muscle, totally unfazed, while he was panicking. She broke into his apartment, yet Elliot felt like he was the one trespassing… in a sense, of course, he was. Still, to make him feel unsafe in his own space… that woman was terrifying, all right, and how the fuck Tyrell managed to love her enough to marry her? Elliot would never understand.

Did Tyrell really love her..?

No, he shouldn’t question that. That was none of his business. Tyrell didn’t promise him anything, and Elliot wasn’t going to ask for any promises. He wasn’t looking for love, and their… situation… it wasn’t love, no matter what Tyrell said. Because love didn’t happen in secret, in between a few meetings filled with meaningless chatter. No, this was no love, and Elliot had no right to question Tyrell and Johanna’s marriage.

“Sit down.” Johanna gestured to a chair, not the couch space beside her.

“Ordering me around my own place?” Elliot dared to remark. Still, he walked towards the chair and sat down.

Johanna just smiled at him. Then she looked at her guard still standing at the door.

“Donald.”

The man moved towards him. Elliot flinched, almost jumping up from the chair, but Johanna commanded again.

“Sit.”

It took all his willpower to sit still when Sutherland approached him, but then Elliot noticed a plastic bag dangling in his hands.

“What’s in there?” Elliot asked.

Sutherland opened the bag and provided… a plastic bowl. Elliot’s popcorn bowl.

“I believe this is yours,” Johanna said as Sutherland put the bowl on the table. If voices were desserts, hers would be frozen caramel glass shards with the sharpest edges one could cut a tongue on with a careless bite. “I thought I’d return it to you. People shouldn’t mess with things that do not belong to them, after all.”

She crossed her arms, and her wedding ring glinted with gold on her left hand.

“Is this what you’ve come to discuss?” Elliot asked. Sutherland towered above him, close enough to cause a sense of panic to creep up Elliot’s throat, but Elliot forced himself to sound calm. “Belongings?”

“No. I know what’s mine, and I need none of yours,” Johanna flicked a lock of her hair, as if by accident flashing her ring again. The she looked at him directly. “You would be wise to arrive to the same conclusion.”

“What do you want?” Elliot asked. It was seven in the fucking morning, his eyes were burning from the lack of sleep, and he had no patience for implied half-truths and obscure hints.

Johanna’s smile faltered, and a flash of anger shadowed her face for a moment.

“I want you to leave my husband alone,” she said. Then she smiled again. “It’s for your own good, as well as ours.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows.

“I thought you had an agreement.”

“We _had_ an agreement. Until Tyrell started breaking the rules.”

“What rules?”

“He didn’t tell you, did he?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Johanna shook her head.

“First, and most important, he is not allowed to see the same person more than once. Tyrell gets attached to people easily, and we cannot have that, can we? Second, he is not allowed to stay the night, for the very same reason. Third, he must never lie to me, and finally — no dalliance should ever become a problem. You, Elliot Alderson, are becoming a problem.”

Elliot swallowed.

“What makes you think we’re seeing each other on a regular basis?”

“Don’t take me for a fool.” Johanna frowned. “I know the two of you have met yesterday. Tyrell came home reeking of your stench.”

Shit. Did she know about the restraining orders? She must have. If she ever caught them… wait, didn’t the order also specify it was forbidden for him to go anywhere near Tyrell’s family members as well? Shit. It was, wasn’t it.

“Listen,” Elliot stood up from the chair and, ignoring Sutherland immediately blocking his way, looked at Johanna. “You gotta leave. Now.”

“If you’re worried about the restraining order, I am aware you’re not allowed to approach us. We made sure nobody saw us come here.” Johanna waved for Sutherland to go back to the door, which he did. “Let me make myself clear. I don’t want to make this into a bigger problem than it already is. But if I ever catch you anywhere near my husband, I _will_ inform the police.”

She stood up.

“And if you hurt him, I _will_ kill you,” she added in a perfectly calm even voice, and with a single look at her grim companion Elliot knew it wasn’t an empty threat: it was a promise she had the will and the means to keep. “Farewell, Elliot Alderson.”

As Johanna turned to leave, Sutherland rushed to open the door for her.

That’s when Mr. Robot took a step forward, and before Elliot could so much as gasp, he spoke up.

“Hey, dominatrix, didn’t you forget something?”

Johanna turned on her heels, and Elliot could only stare in horror as Mr. Robot took another step forward.

“People aren’t property,” Mr. Robot said. “Your husband is not a droid with a remote control you and I can fight over. If he wants to see me, it’s his choice.”

Shit. Shit! What was Mr. Robot doing? Why was he antagonizing her? He needed to stop, she was right, they were wrong, _stop--_

“Do _not_ talk about my husband like you know him.” Johanna snapped, her brows furrowed, and Elliot felt his limbs grow cold under her gaze. Intimidating was the mildest word to describe her glare. “Who are you, again? An IT guy from a struggling company that will be lucky enough to survive another five years. Who would even notice if you disappeared? You’re a nobody, Elliot Alderson. You have nothing, and you mean nothing. Do you know what Tyrell sees in you? _Nothing._ You’re inconsequential. A boytoy he can use to play and discard as he wishes. That’s what he loves about you, the fact that you will never amount to anything. Whatever bond you imagine you share with him — that’s just it, your imagination. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t care about you. All you are to him is yet another source for a power trip. He will get bored of you eventually, so… don’t get any ideas. Tyrell knows his place. And so should you.”

As Johanna paused, Elliot both feared and hoped Mr. Robot would say something, anything, but he stayed silent.

“Tyrell can make up his own mind, without you speaking for him,” Elliot said.

“True.” Johanna smiled and approached him, and touched his face. Her fingers were cold, nails sharp; Elliot felt his skin crawl under the touch. “Everyone is responsible for their own actions. All I’m asking is for you to take responsibility for yours. This is your one chance to walk away, Elliot Alderson. I suggest you take it.”

She patted his cheek, then turned away and left the apartment without another word, and Sutherland hurried after her.

Elliot didn’t try to stop them. In fact, as soon as his “guests” were gone, he locked up the door and barely held back an impulse to prop it up with a chair (it wouldn’t have worked, and giving in to paranoia was never a good decision anyway).

It was 7:28 AM, and — Mr. Robot aside — Elliot was alone in his apartment again.

“What the hell was that?” Elliot demanded an answer from Mr. Robot immediately. “You provoked her!”

“She was provoking us!” Mr. Robot objected. “You heard her. _Nothing!_ She wanted you to lash out, it was her plan all along — that’s why she brought her goon along with her. She wanted proof you’re dangerous.”

“Fuck,” Elliot moaned under his breath. He felt a headache creeping up on him, so he walked over to the bed and flopped down on top of it, not even trying to crawl under the cover. “We’re so fucked.”

“You are,” Mr. Robot had the nerve to correct him. “I, on the other hand--”

“Don’t--”

“--could use a hand, because so far a hand is all I’ve got to use, if you catch my drift.”

Elliot groaned, and Mr. Robot laughed.

“I hate you,” Elliot said.

“C’mon, kiddo, we both know you don’t really mean that.” Mr. Robot sat down at the foot of the bed. “I’m trying to cheer you up, is all.”

“Well, it’s not fucking working.”

“Well, the fuck you want me to do? Huh? Hit you, burn you with a cigarette, push you out of the window? Is violence the only way you recognize affection? That's unhealthy, son.”

 _That_ got Elliot to laugh. His alter, this selfish, short-tempered, violent prick, preaching about what’s healthy? He’d call it ironic, only instead of irony it left a taste of iron in his mouth, a taste of blood.

He bit his lip, too hard, as he held back a wordless exclamation. He didn't know what he felt or what he wanted to say, but there sure was a lot of it.

Mr. Robot sighed.

“Don’t let her get to you, kiddo. What she said, it’s just jealousy. And it’s all bullshit, you know that.”

“I don’t know,” Elliot mumbled. “I don’t know shit.”

“Alright, get up.” Mr. Robot grabbed him, and the next second Elliot found himself standing upright on his feet. “No breakdowns before breakfast, okay? Go take a shower. We have plans for today. Big plans! Cheer up, kiddo.”

Elliot took a deep breath. Yes; Mr. Robot was right. There was no time to cry and pity himself, they had to get to work early. Whether or not Johanna was right, it changed nothing in their plan. The restraining orders had to go, even if only for Elliot’s peace of mind — he had enough of things adding to his anxiety as it was.

Speaking of which, did he still have that interceptor running? He set it up a while ago during one of his paranoid episodes, and then pretty much forgot about it, so there was no guarantee it was working. But if it was… that little trap that allowed him to own any phone that tried to connect to his network.

And Mr. Robot had just given him an idea.

“Thanks,” Elliot said.

But when he turned around, Mr. Robot was gone, leaving only a keychain accessory behind in his stead — that small black enameled gun Tyrell had given them yesterday as a keepsake.

It felt kind of unfair to have it now that he had his popcorn bowl back, yet Elliot didn’t hesitate another moment. He picked it up, found his own set of keys and linked the trinket with the keyring.

He’s keeping the thing, and all the lies and truths in the world be damned.

 

* * *

 

Tyrell went for a run early in the morning. He expected Johanna to be still in bed upon his return, she hardly ever got up before 8 AM; today, however, she wasn't in bed, in the bedroom, or home at all.

Puzzled, Tyrell took a quick shower and made breakfast. Chewing on some chunky oats, he was considering whether or not he should try calling her when the front door swung open, and Johanna walked in.

“There you are,” Tyrell smiled in relief. “Good morning.”

Johanna ignored him and walked straight to the sofa where she sat down and closed her eyes.

Starting to worry, Tyrell got up from his seat at the table, grabbed the plate and, rapidly shoving spoonfuls of oatmeal in his mouth, walked from the kitchen into the living room.

“Johanna, what is it?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Johanna said.

She didn’t sound fine, though. She was out of breath, and instead of sitting upright she was leaning back and massaging her temples as if fighting a headache.

Setting the plate aside — he could worry about breakfast later — Tyrell walked close to his wife.

“Do you have a headache? Should I get you anything?”

“No.”

“Johanna…”

“I said I’m fine, stop fussing. I’m just a little light-headed after the walk.”

“About that… where have you been?”

Johanna opened her eyes and regarded him with an icy glare.

“You don’t get to ask me that question.”

Tyrell frowned.

“In your condition…”

“I am better familiar with my condition than you ever will be. If I say I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Fine. If you say so.”

Johanna didn’t say another word to him, so he picked up his plate and returned to the kitchen. There, eating cold tasteless oatmeal in silence, Tyrell thought bitterly his office was no longer the only place where he felt like he was walking on thin ice.

 

 

At the office, though, everything was worse.

It started as a normal, ordinary Monday morning. An awkward hello to his assistant at 9:30, a triple shot of espresso at 9:35; check his calendar, review the tickets board, prepare for the debriefing…

It was noon before he knew it.

And then it was time for a meeting with Terry Colby and Scott Knowles.

“Wellick,” sprawled in his seat, Colby nodded at him, not even bothering to stand up when Tyrell entered the meeting room. Scott, apparently, was late: he was nowhere to be seen.

“Terry!” Tyrell put on a big charming smile. “How was your weekend?”

Colby clicked his tongue.

“Like the happy hour at Legs & Lace — terrific, and much too short.”

Tyrell laughed as he raised his index finger in a _gotcha_ gesture.

“Hah, that’s what my wife usually says!” wait, that sounded better in his head. This… this was wrong on so many levels. Did he just compare his boss to his wife, _that’s what she said_ ’d him, or implied something unfortunate regarding his own anatomy..?

“Not to me, she wouldn't,” Colby smirked.

Tyrell forced a chuckle. Thank god, it turned into a plain old cuckold joke. Gross, but at least his boss didn’t take it the hard way-- oh, for god’s sake, what was it with him and unfortunate word choices today? He really needed to grab a hold of himself before the-- _jävel!_ Focus!

“Where’s Scott?” Tyrell asked.

“He won’t be joining us, car trouble or something…” Colby waved his hand dismissively. “Go on, sit down and brief me on the last week’s progress. And none of that technobabble of yours, I have a meeting with Phillip in an hour. I need facts.”

“The facts are looking good, sir. The contract with Allsafe aside, we managed to implement the security upgrade we had discussed. All the new servers are ready.”

“How are we on the mobile front?”

“The new credit rating app for iOS is ready for the release. The Android one is still in testing, there are a few animation bugs--”

“Tyrell, I said no technobabble,” Colby winced. “I don’t care what the problem is. Tell me when it’s going to be ready.”

“The project manager promised it would be ready on Wednesday. I’m confident we can have a presentation this Friday.”

Colby sighed.

“We need the new app by Wednesday. Kick them in the balls if you have to, chain them up and spank them, I don’t fucking care. Phillip is going to have my head… We’re already a week past schedule.”

“Should I promise them a bonus if they do it on time?”

“Those lazy cocksuckers? Ha! They’re lucky hiring a new team would take even more time, or I’d fire every single one of them.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll whip them into shape, then.”

“If there are any hot blondes, do it on camera,” Colby winked at him. “What else do we have? Didn’t we need to buy a new license for something?”

“Yes, about that…”

It went on, and on, and on. Colby made verbal jabs and dirty jokes, barely listening when Tyrell answered his half-hearted questions; Tyrell smiled, swallowed his pride, and in the end gave his boss the spreadsheet he had prepared.

Then, finally, it was over.

 

 

Tyrell asked his assistant to bring him something for lunch, then he locked himself in his office and crashed on the couch, barely remembering to take off his suit coat beforehand.

God, that meeting drained him.

If only Elliot was here… oh, Elliot. He was the one to see the mask and the man behind it; only with him Tyrell could be his true self. The confident front Tyrell put up for the company, the scaredy cat he occasionally allowed himself to be with his wife — Elliot saw both and hated neither. He accepted Tyrell as powerful, as vulnerable, as anything and everything, and he wanted all of him, he wanted Tyrell as he was, and Tyrell needed that.

He needed Elliot so much.

Just as he thought about that, his cellphone rang. For a split second Tyrell had hoped against all hope and reason that it was Elliot, that somehow he felt Tyrell needed him… but no. Still, it was the next best thing possible at the moment: his lawyer.

“Tell me you have good news,” Tyrell said once he answered the call.

“Greetings, Mr. Wellick,” the lawyer replied dryly. Tyrell realized suddenly he couldn’t remember the guy’s name, and for a second it bothered him. Then he shrugged it off.  A lawyer’s a lawyer. “I have good news, bad news… and some odd news.”

Odd?

“Go on.”

“First of all, I have met with Justice White. That’s the good news. The bad news is, I am yet to convince her to share the name of the petitioner.”

Tyrell frowned.

“You mean, you failed.”

“Not quite. You see, Mr. Wellick, regarding what I told you about your order of protection last time we met… I stand corrected.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, upon closer examination and also as confirmed by Justice White, only one of the orders you’ve shown me is legitimate. The other one is… well, it’s fake.”

“What?” no, that couldn’t be. Elliot wouldn’t lie to him. He wouldn’t have! “It can’t be.”

“The notification you’ve received is a forgery, Mr. Wellick. Well-made, but a forgery nevertheless.”

“Wait… the one _I_ received? So… Elliot Alderson never filed a petition for an order of protection against me?”

“No. Not this one, anyway.”

That made even less sense than Elliot lying to him. If Elliot lied, he could have edited the photo to change names or something, but… if his order was fake and Tyrell’s was the real one, then…

“Looks like someone really wants Mr. Alderson to stay away from you, but doesn’t want to hurt you in the process,” the lawyer said.

Tyrell gasped. Everything clicked into place. Even if he didn’t yet know _how,_ he knew _who_ filed the petition.

They seriously needed to talk.

“Irving?” in a moment of clarity, he even remembered the lawyer’s name. “Thank you. Further investigation won’t be necessary, I know who did it. Just focus on dismissing the case.”

“Uh-huh. Okay then, I’ll send you the check once it’s done.”

“Thank you,” Tyrell repeated.

Then he hanged up.

 

* * *

 

It was 12:30 AM, the staff meeting was dealt with, and Elliot was at his cubicle, minding his own business. Or, well, he was minding someone else’s business, because…

He knew who was behind the restraining orders.

Just as Elliot was about to ask Lloyd to have lunch together, Gideon appeared with a plastic folder in his hands. He smiled when he approached Elliot’s desk.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Gideon asked. “Better, I hope?”

“Why would I--” oh, right, Mr. Robot called in sick last week. “--come to work if I didn’t feel better? I’m fine.”

“Good,” Gideon smiled again. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then asked another question. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Elliot frowned.

“Should I?”

“I wonder. You see…” Gideon ruffled through the folder and took out a document. “Last week, at the party, Tyrell Wellick — E Corp’s vice CTO — asked me about you. And now… this.”

Gideon put the document on Elliot’s table. Elliot took a closer look.

“They’re requesting a consultant to oversee their server upgrades. What does it have to do with me?”

“Look at the name it’s signed with.”

Sure enough, the document was signed by Tyrell Wellick. Shit. Didn’t they discuss it? Elliot told him not to send any requests, and yet… for fuck’s sake.

They needed to discuss the situation, though. And if Elliot was right about the perpetrator…

“Now, there’s nothing in here about you, specifically,” Gideon said. “But you’re my best tech, Elliot, and normally I’d send you without hesitation. However, considering Mr. Wellick’s… interest in you… What I’m saying is, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position in case you have some, uh, interpersonal issues.”

“We don’t.”

“Are you sure? I can always send Lloyd.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll go.”

“Okay.” Gideon nodded. “Thank you, Elliot.”

 

 

Elliot was near the entrance to Evil Corp building by 2 PM.

He bought a burner phone on the way there, for one specific purpose: to yell at Tyrell. As soon as he dialed up the number, though, his resolve started fading, and when Tyrell picked up the phone, Elliot found himself unable to raise his voice.

“Why did you send that request?” he asked.

“Elliot! Thank god,” Tyrell sounded happy to hear him, and Elliot bit his lip: some strong but unidentifiable emotion made his heart flutter. “Are you coming?”

“I’m already here,” Elliot whispered, and looked around him. Nobody seemed to care. “Where are you?”

“Not yet where I’m supposed to be, but soon. Very soon,” Tyrell said cryptically, but still with a hint of mirth. “Come to bathroom on the eleventh floor as soon as you can. I’ll meet you there… we need to talk.”

“Are you out of your mind? What if someone sees us?”

“I can turn off the cameras.”

“And the people?”

“It’s the floor where the mobile development teams seat. Trust me, they have their hands full at the moment. Nobody’s going to pay us any attention.”

“Fine.” Elliot sighed. “I’ll be there in ten.”

 

 

The whole eleventh floor seemed deserted, with only occasional muffled sounds of distant voices coming from behind locked doors. Luckily, the bathroom wasn’t hard to find.

Tyrell was already there when Elliot stepped inside.

“Finally,” Tyrell smiled. He proceeded to lock the door, then turned to Elliot. “Come here.”

They kissed. It was awkward.

“You said we needed to talk,” Elliot caught Tyrell’s hand once it made an attempt to sneak under his hoodie. It was tempting to let him continue, sure, but it wasn’t the right time for such things. “What is this about?”

Tyrell mumbled something in Swedish and leaned in to steal another kiss.

“Hey. You didn’t send that request just so we could fuck in the bathroom, did you?”

“And if I had…” Tyrell grinned. “Would you have hated me for wasting the company resources?”

“No,” Elliot said. “I hate Evil Corp. For all I care, you can waste all its resources until it crashes and burns.”

He intended his words to be a joke, but the way it came out… it didn’t sound like a joke at all. Oddly enough, Tyrell gave him a soft laugh in response.

They kissed again. It was good.

Just as Elliot thought things were about to escalate, Tyrell stopped. He pulled away, breathing heavily, his hands on Elliot’s shoulders, and mumbled something under his breath again.

“What is it?” Elliot asked.

Taking a step back, Tyrell straightened up.

“We don’t have time for this. We need to talk.” with a sigh, he rubbed his forehead. “Elliot, I think I know who’s behind the restraining orders.”

“Your wife?”

Tyrell blinked.

“Wait, what? You knew about this? Since when?”

“Since this morning,” Elliot shrugged. “She came to visit me. Talked about rules and belongings, threatened to call the police. Something bugged me about her. So I tapped into her phone. She called a woman named Rose White seven times this month. The name seemed familiar, which was odd because there was no Rose White in your contact list when I hacked you. Then I remembered Lloyd, my coworker — he mentioned a Rose White who wanted to meet me. I asked him about her, and he confirmed my suspicion: she’s a judge. She wasn’t trying to meet me, she was _investigating_ me. Because your wife told her to. Because your wife wants me gone.”

For the longest moment filled with silence, Tyrell stared at him. Then he cleared his throat.

“That was fast. Good job, Elliot.” he said with a nod. “I only found out when my lawyer said one of the orders was fake. In hindsight, I should have probably realized sooner…”

“Wait,” Elliot interrupted. “Fake? Which one?”

“Oh… you didn’t know about that, did you?” Tyrell smiled, and Elliot swallowed the urge to wipe that smugness off his face with a kiss. “Well, apparently, my wife doesn’t hate me enough to send me to prison… yet. That notification paper she gave me — I don’t know what she was thinking. Maybe she wanted to teach me a lesson, maybe she thought my affection for you will fade once we stop seeing each other… It doesn’t matter now. Her plan failed. My lawyer will get the charges against you dropped, and everything will return to normal.”

Normal.

Elliot looked Tyrell in the eyes. He seemed happy, somehow; proud, even. Of what? His wife made it clear she wasn’t going to tolerate their affair, going as far as bribing a judge and forging a restraining order, breaking and entering, threatening to kill Elliot, and Tyrell was talking about normalcy?

How was any of this normal..?

“I feel something for you,” Elliot said. Tyrell looked at him, and he continued. “I don’t know what it is. I just… keep trusting you. Even when I should know better.”

“Why shouldn’t you trust me? I’ve been nothing but honest with you.”

Yes. Recklessly so. From their first meeting when Tyrell talked about his heart and where he started, to that job offer when Tyrell disclosed sensitive information to him, to everything that happened afterwards — all this mess and confusion, all of Elliot’s doubts… Tyrell reached out for him and met him with open arms.

Was it normal? Were they both crazy?

“Find someone you can be your honest self with,” Elliot quoted from memory. “My boss said it to me once. I thought it was bullshit. After all, we’re all lying to each other. You lie to your wife, she lies to you. Angela and Ollie. My sister had at least two boyfriends last time I heard from her. We all live in this maze of smoke and mirrors, so why bother? It’s normal. Living a lie. Even my father, he said — sometimes lies can be useful, sometimes they protect you. Well, maybe I don’t want to be protected. Maybe I don’t want to be normal.”

Tyrell frowned.

“Elliot, I’m sorry, but… I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Mr. Robot said, appearing from behind Tyrell’s back. “What’s gotten into you, kiddo?”

“You,” Elliot said. “You’re a ghost. An echo of a man I wanted to be. But I don’t want that, not anymore.”

“And what do you want, him?” Mr. Robot yelled as he shoved Tyrell in the shoulder. “A complacent puppet under the rule of his corporate overlords? A liar and a cheat betraying the woman he’s sworn to love and protect? Face it, Elliot, she was right. He doesn’t care about you. You’re just another point to score in their game, their tug of war! They hate each other, they’re miserable, so they drag you into this. And you’re buying their bullshit!”

“Elliot…” Tyrell looked alarmed. When he spoke, his accent was thicker than usual. “What are you saying? You’re scaring me. This doesn’t make sense.”

“Normal doesn’t exist,” Elliot said. “We’re people, not statistics. Everyone is different. There is no such thing as normal.”

“What are you saying?” Tyrell repeated in a whisper.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Elliot took a deep breath and looked at Tyrell. “I won’t be your malware.”

“No,” Tyrell shook his head. “No, what are you saying? You can’t do this. Elliot, you can’t do this. You can’t!”

He was almost screaming at this point, and Elliot hunched over.

“You don’t get to yell at me,” Mr. Robot hissed in his stead. “You who got us into this goddamn mess! It was your wife who got the police involved. I am not going to prison because of your jealous spouse! Fix your own shit before you drag me into another one of your lovers’ quarrel.”

Tyrell trembled.

“Elliot-- I’ll fix this, I promise--”

“I’m fed up to here with your promises!” Mr. Robot pushed him away when Tyrell tried to touch him. Elliot wanted to stop him… but also didn’t. “Get a divorce, or go back to your wife and be happy. Either way, I want nothing to do with that steaming pile of bullshit. You can call me once you’ve figured it out, but until then — bonsoir, adieu, sayo-fucking-nara, I don’t care. Goodbye!”

Even as Tyrell called out his name again, Elliot followed Mr. Robot to the door and unlocked it.

“I meant what I said about feeling something,” he added. “For what it’s worth… I do give a shit how this turns out.”

And then he left.


	6. Smoke and Mirrors

Dumbfounded, Tyrell stood in the bathroom. What just happened?

One moment they were discussing their plan with Elliot, then suddenly he confessed his feelings - but before Tyrell could reply, Elliot started talking about honesty and not wanting to live a lie, then called himself a malware and blamed Tyrell for... what, exactly? Tyrell didn't understand what set Elliot off.

Nothing about this made any sense. The whole incident was stupid, and it pissed Tyrell off. Such silly misunderstanding! If Elliot just explained everything properly - but he wouldn’t listen to Tyrell’s pleas, he stormed off and left Tyrell more confused than ever.

Was it on purpose? Was Elliot simply trying to get rid of him? Was everything he said a lie? No, no, Elliot wouldn’t lie. Would he?

On the verge of screaming in frustration, Tyrell squeezed his eyes shut. It didn’t help; the whole incident started replaying in his head immediately.

_“I won’t be your malware.”_

_“Get a divorce, or go back to your wife and be happy.”_

_“I want nothing to do with that steaming pile of bullshit.”_

_“I don’t care, goodbye.”_

A wave of pure white-hot fury flushed over him, rising from Tyrell’s stomach up to his throat. Fingers curled, fists clenched, Tyrell shivered - spasmodic impulses twisting his muscles - and, unable to restrain himself, he threw a punch without looking where.

His fist met the mirror on the bathroom wall. The mirror cracked and broke. Uneven shards, large and glistening smugly in the pale artificial light, showered down on his unprotected hand with an oddly quiet, dull clash.

He didn’t even feel the pain as he saw the cuts open, bleeding red, like someone spilled a bottle of thick indian ink over his shaking hands.

For some, pain was a signal to stop and reconsider their course of action. For Tyrell, no, pain was infuriating; the more it hurt, the more he raged. And...

Right now, it hurt like a motherfucker.

 

* * *

 

Only when Elliot found himself alone back at his apartment, sitting on the floor and crying in the corner, he realized how fucked up it all was.

Honestly, what the hell was he doing? In the course of a week, he managed to:

  * miss a court-ordered therapy session;
  * let a virtual stranger spend the night at his place;
  * sleep with that guy whom he had considered despicable;
  * somehow start considering him less despicable in the process;
  * piss off said guy's pregnant wife so badly she threatened to kill him;
  * get issued a questionable restraining order, then violate it;
  * skip work not once but twice;
  * get drunk to the point of falling asleep mid-conversation;
  * blabber a load of lies and utter nonsense to his best friend;
  * give his boss a reason to assume he was having “interpersonal issues” with their main client’s Vice CTO... which, to be fair, they had;
  * almost give away one of the few reminders of his father he had left, then receive it back;
  * discover he sort of had a (mild!) foot fetish? Gross;
  * have sex in an abandoned building, wearing a Halloween mask and his father’s jacket, and receive a gun-shaped keychain accessory as a memento/token of affection;
  * start talking to the (imaginary) ghost of his dead father. Again. After three years of peace and quiet.



Oh, and he also probably fell in love or some shit, with that very same Vice CTO/virtual stranger/not-so-despicable-anymore sexy-feet guy/unfaithful husband of the murderous pregnant lady, the fucking epicenter of this shitstorm. And after all that he proceeded to break up with that guy because he ruined Elliot’s perfect maze of carefully crafted walls he put up to protect his core, his source code.

Tyrell was a bug demanding to be embraced, to be implemented as a feature, and Elliot did not like that. Except... he kind of did. He kind of liked it a lot. He was hacked, hooked, and fucked. Literally, figurally, all around.

Fuck... He was a mess.

His head throbbing with a dull headache, Elliot felt around for his phone and located it in the pocket of the discarded hoodie he'd thrown on the floor the moment he entered his apartment (because he felt like shit).

“I feel like shit,” he texted Krista. “Can we set that appointment for tomorrow?”

Two minutes of plain white digits of the clock app blinking atop the hopeless black background, and finally - a reply.

“I'm all booked for the day. Will 6:30 PM work for you?”

Elliot knew Krista usually left the office around that time. She was an early bird. Agreeing to meet so late in the evening... she must have been really worried about him. Then again, she probably should be.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Elliot texted her back.

“It is set, then. I'll see you at my office,” Krista responded with a confirmation.

That was it for their conversation. It didn’t help Elliot’s mood much, but it soothed some of his anxiety. A little.

And “a little” was better than “not at all”.

His stomach grumbled, but Elliot didn't feel like eating. In fact, he felt like he would throw up if he tried. The headache wouldn’t go away, seemingly growing in intensity. He wanted to curl up under a blanket and forget everything for a while, but he couldn’t do that either. It felt like he’d break down again if he stopped moving, so he started pacing around the room.

His gaze fell on the hoodie on the floor. He paused to pick it up, dusted it off... then lost motivation suddenly and dropped it on the armrest of the couch.

He went to pour himself a glass of water but couldn’t find a clean glass. He turned the tap anyway and started washing his face, his hands, then leaned over and gulped the pouring water. It splashed, and it was cold too. Unpleasant.

Miserable, cold and wet, Elliot turned off the tap and closed his eyes.

What was wrong? He was taking the meds Krista issued him. He got plenty of sleep - over six hours per night. At work, he was functional. But home, alone with himself… well. He was - this.

If he was having this conversation with anyone else, with Angela, Shayla, even Krista, he'd say he was fine. He’d say he was just stressed, and in part it was probably true. Not a hard boolean “true”, but not exactly a “false” either.

Sometimes Elliot wished his life was as simple and clear-cut as binary logic.

He had let Tyrell in, allowed him to get too close. He allowed himself to want Tyrell even closer. And then he panicked and pushed him away, and it seemed like the right thing to do - really, what kind of shitty person cheats on his pregnant wife with a guy he barely knows? And what kind of monster would try to break a family apart, encouraging a man to leave a loving wife and an unborn child?

No, this was no love. The two of them simply wanted what they could not have. That’s all there was to Elliot’s attraction to Tyrell - the unobtainable mystery of a white whale, the greener grass of someone else’s happiness; as for Tyrell, he was probably bored with his nice perfect family and cushy corporate job, seeking the thrill of passion with a hint of danger the affair provided.

No, this wasn’t love. It was selfish, reckless madness.

“But I’m crazy, aren’t I?” Elliot asked Qwerty when he noticed the fishbowl near the window. Thankfully, Qwerty didn’t reply.

Elliot sighed. All this soul-searching was pointless and stupid. He couldn’t do anything right now - it was Tyrell’s turn to make a move, to deal with his wife and his lawyers - so he might as well do nothing. However frustrating that might prove... for now, it was his only option.

 

* * *

 

Sutherland brought the first-aid kit from the car and helped Tyrell deal with the cuts on his hands.

Once it was done, Tyrell sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. The adrenaline was fading away. The pain remained. The painkillers were yet to kick in, but the strongest pain wasn’t in his hands anyway.

“Sir, I still think we should take you to the emergency room.” Sutherland sounded concerned. “That big cut on your left hand looks pretty deep.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Tyrell said. “Thank you for your concern. You can go.”

“Should I tell anything to Mrs. Wellick?”

“No.” A cold shiver crept down his spine at the thought. Johanna was not going to take the information well. “Just... pick me up at seven, as usual.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be nearby, in case you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Tyrell repeated.

Finally, Sutherland left.

Tyrell rubbed his forehead and sighed. There was no reason to find the man irritating, he was only doing his job, his concern was understandable... yet, as soon as the door closed behind him, Tyrell couldn’t help but breathe with more ease. Strange. Normally, he found any company comforting.

Looking at his bandaged hand, Tyrell tried to curl it into a fist and couldn’t. It hurt.

If only he could talk to Elliot again...

Just as Tyrell started to wonder if perhaps he could disregard the rules and call Elliot after all, his own phone started buzzing. For a whole second Tyrell felt hopeful, then he saw the caller’s ID. Scott Knowles.

What did _he_ want?

“Scott,” Tyrell decided to answer the call despite his terrible mood and aching hands. “Is there a reason you’re calling me on my cell instead of my office?”

“Your assistant wouldn’t put me through.” Tyrell sensed an edge to Scott’s tone. He always had a rough voice, but right now he was almost barking, words falling from his mouth sharp and heavy. Or was it just his own nerves? “Have you seen Terry Colby today?”

“We had a meeting this morning.” It felt like an eternity ago. “Why, did you want something from him?”

“That’s none of your business,” Scott grumbled through gritted teeth. Sheesh, he was in a bad mood. “Is he in his office right now?”

“I’m not sure...” Tyrell frowned. “And I don’t appreciate being spoken in this manner. Goodbye, Scott.”

Scott grumbled something indistinctly, then promptly hung up.

For a moment, Tyrell stared at the phone in his hand wondering what that was all about. Then, shrugging it off, he put the phone away; there were other concerns on his mind, and whatever problem Scott had with Terry, it most likely would have no effect on Tyrell. It wasn't important.

The conversation he was going to have to have with Johanna, _that_ was important.

 

 

By the time Tyrell got home, he was yet to make up his mind on an explanation. He went over every scenario he could think of, and every single one ended in disaster. Johanna was going to see through any lie he could come up with, but the truth was even worse.

So, he decided not to explain anything at all.

At first, she didn’t ask. They sat down for dinner; baked salmon with green beans, healthy and proper. Tyrell said nothing. Johanna glanced at his bandaged hand a couple of times but didn’t say anything either.

But then she asked.

“How was your day?”

“Fine,” Tyrell said.

“You’re tense.”

“One of the mobile development teams is falling behind. I might have to stay at the office late a few nights this week to control the process.”

Johanna reached for her glass of water and took a sip. Tyrell swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

“Is this the best you can do?” Johanna asked as she set the glass down.

Tyrell pushed his plate aside, unfinished. He lost his appetite. Under his wife’s unwavering gaze he felt small and defenceless, an insect pinned down under the microscope for the entomologist to study. Sometimes Johanna’s perfectly balanced and collected manner helped Tyrell collect himself, too; sometimes it was nothing but unnerving.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked.

“I want to hear you’re done messing around with that _dreng._ ”

“Don’t call him that. He’s a grown man, not a boy. And...” Tyrell looked away. “Yes, we’re through. He started making unreasonable demands, I had to let him go. You were right... it was a mistake.”

Johanna smiled.

“I’m always right.”

She reached out to pat his hand but, before Tyrell realized what he was doing, he jerked away. Johanna paused.

“Does it hurt?” she asked cautiously.

“A little,” Tyrell admitted.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

With a sigh, Tyrell forced himself to smile and look her in the eyes.

“Nothing, it was an accident. It doesn’t matter.” He reached out and took his wife’s hand. It was weird with the bandage on, and Johanna raised an eyebrow. Tyrell only smiled again. “Tell me about your day, babe. How have you been?”

“Do you really want to hear me talk about crocheting baby socks and looking up baking recipes on the internet?” Johanna asked. There was no self-deprecation in her question; if anything, she seemed skeptical. Or, perhaps, angry. “Or are you just feigning an interest in me because you feel guilty for ignoring me these last two months?”

“What? No, why would I...” Tyrell blinked. “Two months?”

“Ever since you met him, you can’t shut up about him.” Johanna rolled her eyes. “You made him that job offer without even consulting me. You jeopardized your career - and us - why, exactly?”

Uncertain how to react, Tyrell frowned.

“Where is this coming from? I told you, Elliot and I are done.”

“Really.” Johanna stated flatly. Then she scoffed, like she didn’t believe him. “I am a patient woman, Tyrell. I can allow a few missteps, as long as you’re heading in the right direction. I can forgive you not being there for me and the baby, as long as you’re working for our benefit. What I cannot forgive is you neglecting us for no other sake than having fun on the side.”

Pushing away from the table, Tyrell stood up abruptly.

“I told you, I broke up with him! What else do you want me to say? That I’ll never see him again, that he’s dead to me? Is that what you want to hear?”

Johanna shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I don’t want to hear another _word_ about Elliot Alderson.”

“Well then, maybe you should have thought of that before you bribed a judge to get a restraining order against him, because now I’ll have to show up for a court hearing!”

Horrified even before he finished speaking, Tyrell gasped right after the words spilled from his mouth. He bit on his bandaged hand to make himself shut up, but it was too late; he slipped. He wasn’t going to mention it, yet he did.

And now Johanna stared at him, cold fury burning in her eyes, a blue flame of burning gas: unnatural, unstoppable.

“Say that again,” she demanded quietly.

There was no turning back now. Tyrell swallowed and straightened up.

“I know the restraining order you’ve given me is fake,” he said. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you forced my hand.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one,” Johanna gave him an odd smile as she nodded at the bandage. “You should be thanking me. He stalked you and harassed you to the point you had to hit him until he backed off. He’s dangerous. Show that to the judge, and they’ll lock that psycho up for good.”

“Don’t call him that!” Tyrell clenched his fists. It hurt; spots of red surfaced through the bandage on his left hand. Still, he didn’t care. “It’s not like that at all. You got it all wrong, and you got _him_ wrong. He’s nothing that you think he is. He _understands_.”

Johanna’s eyebrow twitched.

“He understands what, precisely?”

“Everything.”

His strength left him suddenly. With a sigh, Tyrell sat down - more like fell - back on his chair, nursing his head in between his palms. Everything ached.

“I lied to you,” he said. “This... thing... with Elliot, I didn’t end it. He did. He told me it was over, that he wanted nothing to do with me. So... it’s over, like you wanted. But I didn’t end it. I don’t know if I _could_ have. I don’t know if I’m able to let him go.”

It was suddenly very quiet. The silence between them stretched like a rubber glove pulled too hard, about to snap. Tyrell squeezed his eyes shut; for some reason, it was difficult to breathe.

“So it wasn’t your decision.”

“No.”

“And now? Being here, is it your decision?” Johanna’s voice remained cool and even. Perhaps, too even, to the point of sounding unnatural, strained. Was this difficult for her, as well? Sometimes Tyrell couldn’t say. Sometimes he wasn’t certain if she felt anything for him, or at all. “Because I don’t want a man who doesn’t want me. I don’t want to be a footnote, an afterthought. I won’t be second place to anyone, especially not some messy, hoodie-wearing swaine.”

Tyrell was going to protest. He was going to say that no, she wasn’t an afterthought; that he loved her and he wanted to be here.

And then he remembered the arcade. The abandoned building, scarcely furnished and mostly trashed, where every noise and whisper resounded, loud and hollow; the dancing colorful lights, yellow and purple, and cherry red; the smell of dust and electricity, like the insides of an old computer, mixed with the smell of popcorn; their clothes scattered across the floor.

And Elliot. He looked like a god with that golden halo of artificial light, dazzling spots of hot pink like kisses all over his skin, and the brilliance of blinding green mixed with rich violet swirling around the game machines. All the colors bled together, blending into one, into Elliot. A creature of dazzling lights and suffocating shadows, supernatural. He was right there, so close, touchable and kissable, warm and beautiful... the most beautiful man in the world.

Tyrell wanted to kiss him, so he did, and Elliot let him. They held onto each other and, in that moment, they were their honest selves.

When Elliot had asked him if he was in pain back at the arcade - Tyrell didn’t understand. Now... looking at his bandaged hand stained red, at his wife’s pale expectant face... Tyrell understood.

He wanted to say something, but he had no words to make this right. His lips quivered; nothing came out, not a whimper, not a sigh. He choked on his silence, voiceless, numb.

Finally, Johanna stood up from her chair.

“I see,” she said. “Well, if this is how it is, I suggest you pack a bag and go stay somewhere else. A hotel, or that ratty apartment of your darling swain. Either way, I no longer want you here.”

“No, wait...” clinging desperately to the last chance, Tyrell pleaded. “Johanna - I’m your husband, I love you. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing more to talk about. You need to decide whether or not you want to be a part of this family. If you do, you must pull yourself together and start pulling your weight. Be there for me. And if you can’t do that, then I refuse to be a prop for you to use. My child and I are not a bargaining chip for you to ask for another salary raise. I am more than a decoration or an arm candy to brag about at corporate parties. You needed me for that - fine, I played my role. Now it’s time for you to do your part. Understand?”

She stood tall, beautiful and perfect, not a single lock of hair loose, not even her heavy belly ruining her royal posture. She towered over him like an iceberg, and Tyrell felt small and pathetic. All this time, their marriage was like walking on ice, and now the ice broke under the weight on his shoulders, and he was drowning. And she made no move to help him.

In the last moment of desperation, Tyrell reached out to touch her - only Johanna slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch me.” That glare of hers made her soft voice echo in Tyrell’s head louder than any shouting. “I want a husband, not a stray dog I have to train to obey. Pack your things and leave. And don’t come back until you’ve figured this out.”

With that, Johanna turned away and left.

 

* * *

 

Elliot didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up from someone frantically knocking at the door. It was 3 AM, and his eyes hurt as if they were filled with flaming sand grains.

He got up to open the door, and it was Angela on his doorstep.

“Hi,” she sniffled. Her eyes were red and swollen. “May I come in?”

Elliot stepped aside, letting her into the apartment.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Angela said as she walked straight to the couch. She hesitated before sitting, then dropped down like she was throwing herself off a bridge. “Elliot... I broke up with Ollie.”

“Oh.” he carefully locked the door, looking at the lock to avoid looking at Angela. “Why?”

“Why? You’re asking me why?” Angela sort of laughed, only it wasn’t laughter. “You want to hear me say it, don’t you? Fine. You were right. He was cheating on me.”

He didn’t want to hear her say it. He didn’t even remember telling her about Ollie. When did he do that? Was it even him... or _him_?

“Come on, gloat. Tell me I’m a fool for not believing you, for defending him.” Angela made that sniffle-laugh again. Was she still crying? “Tell me I’m stupid and naive and you told me so. You always knew it, and you’re so smart and shrewd and I’m just nothing. That’s what you think of me, right?”

“No.”

Once again, Angela laughed, loud and vicious. Elliot turned around to face her.

“How did you find out?” he asked.

“He left his laptop open,” Angela closed her eyes and leaned back. “I wasn’t going to snoop around, but... that girl messaged him, and... Oh, what does it matter now. When I confronted him, he begged me to forgive him, but... I can’t. I can’t forgive him, I can’t trust him again. He betrayed me. I want nothing to do with him.”

Elliot walked up to the couch and sat down beside her.

“Okay,” he said. “Angela... I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she sighed and opened her eyes. “It’s not your fault my boyfriend is a scumbag. This has nothing to do with you, and I would have found out regardless. You tried to warn me, and I didn’t listen... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“You didn’t yell at me.”

“No, I suppose not. I don’t know why I keep apologizing,” Angela sighed again. “I just feel like shit right now. I didn’t even take anything, I just walked out. I didn’t take my toothbrush, my clothes... I have to go to work tomorrow, and he’ll be there, and I don’t know how to talk to him. I can’t even look him in the eyes, I don’t want to see him.”

“You can stay here if you want. I’ll tell Gideon you have the flu.”

“I can’t stay here forever. No... I’ll just have to suck it up and sort it out for good.”

“Okay,” Elliot nodded. “Do you need my help? Moving out, or anything.”

She shrugged.

“I don’t even know where I’ll go yet. I’ll probably quit my job at Allsafe, but the rest... I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Okay,” Elliot repeated. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he took Angela’s hand. “Do you want to watch a movie, or something?”

That got him a weak but genuine smile.

“Yeah. But no rom-coms.”

“I don’t have any,” Elliot said. It was true, unless the DVD with a misleading title of _‘Were the World Mine’_ counted, which it didn’t. Darlene gave it to him on his birthday as a joke. He watched almost twenty minutes of it, which was a lot. Then the protagonist started singing, and Elliot shut the thing off and never opened it again. “I have... _Careful Massacre of the Bourgeoisie_.”

“Oh, god, I hate that movie...” Angela winced. “Why do you and your sister like it so much? It’s nothing but gore and blood!”

“It’s about the decadence of the ruling class and the people raising up against the tyranny of capitalism.” Elliot smiled. “And I dig the mask. I think it’s neat.”

“You weirdo,” Angela smiled back at him. “No, I don’t think watching people getting violently murdered will help me feel better, even if they’re bad people. Supposedly. Do you have _Back to the Future_?”

“I thought you said no rom-coms.” That made her laugh, so the choice was made. “I have all three. Let’s binge them all.”

“We’ll be late for work,” Angela said, to which Elliot shrugged.

“Who cares?”

She laughed again. Pleased, Elliot stood up from the couch.

Just as he was about to go fetch his laptop, Angela called after him.

“Hey, Elliot... Thanks.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so when there was a knock at the door, Elliot breathed a sigh of relief and rushed to open it.

It was Shayla.

“Hey, I’m so sorry to bother you in the middle of the night, I’ve just got back from work and I can’t find my keys. Do you still have that spare I-- oh.” She noticed Angela and froze. Her whole face changed. “Oh. I’m sorry. Is this a bad time? You know what, it’s no biggie, I’ll just crash in the car and talk to the landlord tomorrow.”

“No!” Angela stood up quickly as she wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “No, no, it’s okay, we weren’t doing anything. Come on in. Elliot, she can come in, right? Actually, Shayla, can I ask you for a favor?”

Shayla’s face flushed.

“Um, yeah, sure. What is it?”

Elliot felt really weird standing between the two of them. Slowly, he backed away to the side and mumbled something about looking for the spare key; he wasn’t certain Shayla heard him. Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Do you have a set of clothes I can borrow?” Angela asked Shayla in the meantime. “I’m sort of locked out of my home, too, for a couple of days.”

“Of course,” Shayla stepped closer towards Angela. Elliot didn’t look at them, no, he was looking through the stuff in his kitchen drawers in search for the key. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just staying with Elliot for a couple of days, and I forgot to pack my clothes.”

“I thought you lived with your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, that... didn’t work out. You know how it is.”

“No, I really don’t. Boyfriends aren’t exactly my thing.” Shayla shuffled awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. “So, does it mean that you and Elliot--”

“Oh, god, no!” Angela gasped. Elliot almost dropped a hammer he was holding (why did he even keep a hammer in a kitchen drawer). “No, no, it’s not like that. I think I’m done with boyfriends too, for now.”

“Yeah, good choice.” Shayla giggled. “I mean - no offence, Elliot.”

Elliot shrugged.

“None, I know I’m a handful.” Finally, under an old screwdriver set, he found the object of his search. “Here’s your spare key. I got it.”

“Oh,” there was a note of disappointment in Shayla’s tone. “Thanks...”

She looked at Angela. Angela looked back at Shayla. Neither of them said anything. Elliot swallowed the urge to roll his eyes.

“We were going to watch a movie,” he said. “It’ll probably be loud, and you know what the walls are in this building.”

“Yeah,” Shayla nodded. “We live in a cardboard box.”

“So I was thinking,” he continued. “Since you’ll end up hearing everything anyway, you could just stay here and watch a movie with us? If you’re not too tired after your shift at work.”

“Are you kidding, I’m a total night owl! I’d love to join you. If I’m not interrupting anything, that is.”

Angela took a step towards her.

“No, I’d love it if you joined us.”

“Awesome.” Shayla grinned. “So, what are we watching?”

“Back to the Future.”

“What, seriously? That’s my second favorite movie.”

“Oh? What is the first, then?”

As Shayla dropped her bag at the table, Angela linked arms with her and walked her to the couch where the two of them sat down. They were talking about movies, both smiling and seemingly happy.

Suddenly, Elliot felt out of place in his own home, like he didn’t belong here; an odd man out. Not that he wasn’t happy for his friends, it’s just... he didn’t know how to fit in.

“Elliot?” Angela glanced at him.

He smiled and shook his head.

“Yeah, I’ll set the movie to play in a second. Do you guys want popcorn?”

“I’m good,” Shayla said. “They feed us after closing up. Leftovers, mostly, but it’s good... Free food is, like, half the reason I work there.”

“I’m not hungry either,” Angela said.

“Your loss.”

Elliot walked over to the desk and turned on the computer. Within a minuted, everything was locked and loaded; as the first seconds of the movie started playing, Elliot dimmed the lights.

And then, before he even got to sit down, his phone went off.

“If it’s Ollie, I’m not here,” Angela said.

“Okay,” Elliot replied.

But it wasn’t Ollie. Because his phone displayed the caller as “Unknown”, so Elliot knew _exactly_ who this was even before he answered the call.

“Hello,” he said simply, as he picked up.

“I’m outside,” Tyrell said. No greetings, no introductions. Naturally. “Across the street from your building. Can you meet me?”

“Right now?” Elliot glanced at Angela and Shayla who all but snuggled on his couch. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Please,” Tyrell added softly, and Elliot closed his eyes. Fuck.

“Fine, give me five minutes,” he said, disarmed and defeated. Worst of all, he didn’t want to say no despite his rational voice screaming at the back of his head that it was a bad idea. “I’ll be there.”

He hung up before Tyrell said anything compromising; hearing his voice already stirred everything up, and Elliot didn’t need another breakdown. Not here, in front of his friends, not now.

He grabbed his hoodie and put it on.

“Where are you going?” Angela asked.

“Something came up,” Elliot said. “Don’t worry, I won’t be gone for long. A few minutes... maybe an hour. You have fun, watch the movie. I’ll be back in time for the second one.”

“Ok then, Elliot McFly,” Shayla said. “Go catch your lightning.”

They shared a laugh with Angela, and Elliot smiled too. Somehow, with Shayla’s blessing, the upcoming meeting didn’t feel so crazy after all.

He zipped his hoodie and tugged on the hood.

And then he slipped away.

 

 

Tyrell waited for him near the darkest alleyway by the dumpster. Still, Elliot spotted him easily: he was wearing the same suit he had been earlier, sticking out like a sore thumb in this neighborhood. A wonder he didn’t get mugged.

There was a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and Elliot pulled one out.

“Got a light?” he asked as he approached Tyrell from behind.

Tyrell turned around. Immediately, his face cracked into the fondest smile.

“I don’t smoke,” he said, grinning.

“Too bad,” Elliot said. He put the cigarette between his teeth and started going through his pockets for a lighter. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I know,” Tyrell agreed. He didn’t add anything, as if it needed no further explanation. As if they didn’t have a fight a few hours ago, as if there was no court order forbidding them any contact.

Elliot procured a lighter from his back pocket. It took a few tries to light the cigarette; the wind kept blowing out the tiny flame until Tyrell held up his hands to help Elliot shield it. Elliot noticed a bandage on his left hand and a few minor cuts on the right one. Odd.

Finally, the cigarette was lit.

“Why are you here?” Elliot asked.

“I wanted to see you,” Tyrell said. “Listen, about what you said this afternoon--”

“Forget it, man. I wasn’t myself when I said all that stuff.”

“What? So... you didn’t mean it?”

Elliot shrugged.

“I say stupid shit sometimes. Sorry.” He took a drag of his cigarette. Bitter. More bitter than he remembered. “I should have warned you, I guess. It just slipped my mind... with all the restraining order business that’s been going on.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Tyrell sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Listen... can we talk?”

“What do you think we’re doing right now?”

“I mean, somewhere less... exposed. Can we go somewhere private?”

Chuckling, Elliot took another drag of the cigarette.

“Man, you really are something else. What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?”

“I don’t.” Tyrell said. Then he snatched the cigarette from Elliot’s fingers. “I just really want you to.”

“I thought you didn’t smoke.” Elliot commented on the cigarette Tyrell took from him.

“I don’t. I need it for this.”

With that, Tyrell used his free hand to hold Elliot’s chin and leaned in to kiss him. Elliot let it happen; then, as soon as Tyrell pulled away, he took his cigarette back before the flame died down.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked as he took one last drag.

“I do stupid shit sometimes. Sorry,” with a wry smile, Tyrell mirrored Elliot’s earlier response. “I guess I should have warned you.”

Elliot squashed the cigarette against the side of a building, then sent the butt flying in the direction of the trash can. Even though it was a few feet away, he didn’t miss. He took it as a good sign.

“Alright,” he said. “Fine. Let’s go.”

After all, at this point, what did they have to lose?

 

 

It was 4 AM, and they were in the backseat of Tyrell’s car. Outside, the parking lot was dark and quiet, mostly empty. Tyrell drove them here; Elliot wasn’t even certain where exactly “here” was.

“Should you be using your hand so much?” Elliot asked. After steering the wheel during the drive, Tyrell’s bandage developed a thin red line.

“Probably not,” Tyrell said. “It’s okay, I’ll live.”

Elliot looked out the window, but, without the headlights on, it was too dark to see anything meaningful.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“A couple of blocks away from the hotel I’m staying at,” Tyrell said. “I’d invite you in, but it might be a bad idea for us to be seen together before the hearing.”

A hotel-- _oh._

“Wait. You’re not getting a divorce, are you?”

“We didn’t bring it up yet.”

“That’s not a no!”

“No, it’s not.” Tyrell shrugged. “Johanna and I had a conversation. We decided it’s for the best if we separate. For now, at least... I thought you were serious when you said--”

Before he could finish, Elliot slammed a fist into his own knee.

“I remember what I said! What the hell, man?” he shook his head. “She’s pregnant with your baby. I didn’t mean-- you can’t just _leave_ her. No matter how you justify it, objectively, it’s a dick move.”

“...it was your idea.”

“No, it wasn’t!” fucking Mr. Robot. “Okay, maybe I said some stuff, but you weren’t supposed to listen to me. I was freaking out, I didn’t mean--”

“Well then, tell me what did you mean! Because I just fucked up my whole life based on your words, and I’d like to believe it wasn’t all for nothing.”

Elliot groaned.

“Get a load of this guy,” Mr. Robot said. He appeared in the driver’s seat, looking back over his shoulder, with his usual smirk. “He messed and now he’s trying to put the blame on us. Hey, it’s not like we forced him to do it! I told him to go back to his wife and be happy, didn’t I? You were there, you remember.”

“I’m such a fucking dick,” Elliot mumbled.

Tyrell put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t blame yourself. I don’t blame you. It wasn’t your decision, and it’s not your fault. You were the catalyst, true, but Johanna and I had our problems long before I met you.”

“Exactly, what he said,” now Mr. Robot agreed with Tyrell, apparently. “He cheated on her before. Do you think he’ll stay a faithful family man if you turn him down? He’ll just find another guy to mess with, and you’ll be all alone with your miserable self. With me, that is. Fun times!”

He wasn’t wrong.

Elliot leaned back on the seat, resting his head against it. He took Tyrell’s hand and held it in between both of his.

“Angela broke up with Ollie,” he said.

“Okay..?” Tyrell stared at him, confused. He probably didn’t remember who Angela was, did he.

“She’s my best friend since childhood,” Elliot explained. “She and Ollie were together since college. Eight years. Today, she broke up with him. He cheated on her, and she found out. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her so upset. I don’t think I’ve seen her crying since our parents died... almost twenty years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tyrell said.

“I’m not. She should have dumped him a long time ago,” Elliot shrugged. “Still... she’s hurt. He hurt her.”

Mr. Robot scoffed from his seat.

“Your best friend shared her personal tragedy with you, and all you do is project your own guilt onto her situation. Yet somehow I’m the asshole here! Listen, son, I have some news for you: Johanna Wellick is not your friend Angela. She’s not gonna cry on your shoulder from heartbreak.”

“It doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel pain. She’s human, just like me, and she loves him. What right do I have to break them apart?”

“Uh... Elliot, I’m not sure I follow you.” Tyrell’s eyebrows furrowed with worry. “Is there something else I should know about you and this... Angela?”

“No. This isn’t about her.”

Tyrell said nothing. Maybe he got it; maybe he didn’t. Either way, Elliot didn’t want to explain it further. He shuffled closer and leaned on Tyrell, putting his head on his shoulder. Tyrell wrapped his arm around him in response.

“I don’t want good people to suffer because of me,” Elliot said quietly. “This world is cruel enough as it is.”

“What’s with the selfless attitude, Jesus Christ?” Mr. Robot snorted. “Don’t you get it? This is a zero-sum game. There is no painless win-win scenario. Either way, someone is going to get hurt.”

“I’m trying to minimize the amount of pain.”

“You wanna know what I think? I think you’re just trying to absolve yourself from guilt. Only it doesn’t work that way, Elliot. You want this weirdo, fine, be my guest, just stop lying to yourself about it. Don’t pretend I’m the one pushing you into his arms, and don’t pretend you care about his wife. You want him, and you feel guilty about it, but the truth is? He’s right. It ain’t your fault, kiddo. His actions are on him, not you.”

“According to you, it’s never my fault...”

“Elliot, are you falling asleep? I feel like I’m missing half of what you’re trying to say.”

Right. Because it was four in the morning, neither of them got much (if any) sleep, and also Tyrell couldn’t hear Mr. Robot. Of course this conversation didn’t make any sense to him. It barely made sense to Elliot.

“I don’t want this to be another lie,” he said. “The world is full of dumb meaningless shit. I just... I want it to mean something.”

Tyrell sucked in a breath of air through his teeth. For a few moments, there was nothing but silence and the combined rhythm of their breathing and heartbeats; pressed close to his chest, Elliot could hear Tyrell’s heart beating faster when he put a hand on his thigh.

“Do you still have my key trinket?” Tyrell asked suddenly.

“Yeah,” Elliot reached into his pocket and took out his keychain. “I added it to my own key set.”

Tyrell smiled.

“This trinket was the first thing I bought with my own money. The money that I earned. I was thirteen, and I thought it was the coolest item in the world.”

“It’s pretty cool,” Elliot said.

“It’s trash that costs five dollars at most.” Tyrell shook his head. “I didn’t give it to you because it was cool or expensive. I gave it to you... because you wanted it.”

“What?” Elliot blinked. “What does that mean?”

“My first date with Johanna, she asked me for a pair of earrings. Not just any pair... the pair another woman was wearing. She pointed at her and demanded I bring her the earrings as a trophy. Which... well, I did.” Tyrell shrugged. “I wanted to impress her so badly, I didn’t stop to think what I was doing. In a way, it defined our relationship. She wanted something, and I agreed to provide it, even though that something wasn’t mine.”

Trying to process the story, Elliot frowned.

“You gave your wife someone else’s earrings because she wanted someone else and not you. But you gave me your keychain locket because I wanted you?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s too deep for my taste,” Mr. Robot yawned. “Boring! I’m out.”

Elliot didn’t try to stop him. He put his keys back in his pocket, and then he looked up at Tyrell.

“I didn’t expect an introspection from you.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Tyrell said. “So? Are you satisfied with the meaningfulness of our relationship, or should I pull out more personal stories? I don’t think I’ve told you about my father yet...”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No, _älskling,_ I’m not. Honestly, I just don’t know what other proof you need to believe I’m in love with you. Because, cross my heart and hope to die, I am. God help me.”

If Elliot was a different person, good with words and with people, he could have smiled and said something nice and sincere. _I love you too,_ perhaps. Tyrell probably wanted to hear him say it.

But Elliot was himself, so he just kissed Tyrell instead.

They ended up going to the hotel after all.

 

* * *

 

Waking up at 7:30 AM after a mostly sleepless night was physically painful. Waking up because of a shrill screech of a phone call made it even worse.

Before the damn thing drilled a hole in his skull with its sonic-laser-escue noises, Tyrell picked it up and answered as fast as possible, without looking at the caller’s name.

“God, what now?”

“Good morning, Mr. Wellick,” and, oh fuck, of course it was Phillip Price. Just Tyrell’s luck. Why was their CEO calling him, anyway? It couldn’t have been because of yesterday’s incident. Unless someone noticed Tyrell shutting off the cameras? No, impossible. He was careful, and Phillip Price was a busy man who had better things to do than handle every minor incident personally. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, sir!” Tyrell snapped upright, his eyes already open. “What can I do for you?”

“I assume you haven’t watched the morning news. We have something of a situation on our hands. I expect you at my office by 10 AM. Oh, and should anyone ask - you’re not providing any comments.”

“Comments on what, sir?”

Price chuckled.

“Watch the news on your way here. See you at the office, Mr. Wellick, and don’t take too long. It’s urgent.”

With no further explanation, Price hung up.

Blinking owlishly, Tyrell looked around. The hotel room was a mess - a testament to last night’s bout. Various clothing items and personal possessions were scattered across the floor, with the finishing touch of the upside-down coffee table they had accidentally knocked over on their way to the bed.

Well, at least they didn’t break anything.

Elliot was sleeping beside him; he definitely was a heavy sleeper, since neither the phone nor Tyrell’s erratic movements woke him up. It reminded Tyrell of their first night together, and he smiled.

“I love you,” he said.

Naturally, Elliot didn’t reply; however, his face looked peaceful and content, and his breathing was steady and relaxed. Tyrell enjoyed those moments of intimacy, even if, perhaps, it was a little creepy to stare.

Unfortunately, the clock was ticking and the day wouldn’t wait for them.

Tyrell got out of bed. His first instinct was to start picking things up to sort out the tangled up mess on the floor, but he nipped it in the bud. It’s not like he could wear any of that, considering the state the clothes was in.

He went to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth.

When Tyrell returned, Elliot was sitting on the edge of the bed, already awake, with his hoodie draped over his shoulders.

“Good morning,” Tyrell smiled.

“Not really,” Elliot said. He was scrolling through the messages on his phone, frowning. “Angela’s freaking out. I told her I’d be back last night... She needs my help with something. I gotta go. Can you give me a lift?”

“And here I was hoping we could have breakfast together. Oh well,” Tyrell glanced at the clock on his phone. “I have a meeting with Phillip Price in about two hours. What do you say we get a coffee on our way to your place?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something? You have a restraining order against me.”

“I won’t call the police if you won’t.”

Elliot didn’t smile at his joke, just sighed.

“Okay. Let’s get coffee.”

“Hey,” Tyrell approached him and ran a hand along his jawline, making Elliot look up. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. I’ll drive you home, no questions asked.”

Elliot caught his hand.

“I don’t want to end up in jail over a cup of coffee,” he said. “But... I suppose, this is a risk we’ll have to take.”

Tyrell laughed.

“I love you,” he said, then pulled Elliot up on his feet and kissed him.

 

* * *

 

It was 8:15 AM, and they were in a coffee shop named “Ron’s coffee” that Elliot chose. He liked coming here because the spot was relatively quiet despite having the fastest internet connection in the area; suspiciously fast, in fact, but Elliot was too busy to poke around properly.

One of these days, he was going to find the time. Not today, though.

They sat down at the table in the corner, Tyrell with his double espresso and Elliot with a vanilla latte because why the fuck not; Elliot didn’t even flinch when Tyrell threw an arm around his shoulders. Krista would have called that “progress”.

Mr. Robot called it...

“Look at you, all lovey-dovey. Is this cute, or what?” Elliot couldn’t tell if his alter was sulking or celebrating. He sat down at the table alongside with them, playing with a sugar packet Elliot didn’t use. “Too sweet for my taste, but who am I to judge, huh? I’m just happy you’re happy.”

“Happy,” Elliot repeated, tasting the word on his tongue. “Yes. I think I’m happy.”

“Hm?” Tyrell looked at him quizzically. “What’s with the revelation all of a sudden?”

Elliot shrugged.

“Dunno. Just wanted to say it, I guess.”

“You’re a strange man, Elliot Alderson,” Tyrell smiled. “Someday I’ll learn to understand you. Not today, not tomorrow, but I will. Just you wait.”

“Yeah, good luck with that, and do tell once you have me all figured out. I could use a guide book to this motherfucker, or something.”

Tyrell laughed.

It was nice, this moment, the two - well, three - of them together; vanilla latte turned out to be actually good, the morning air was chilly but Tyrell’s arm over his shoulder was keeping him warm, and even Mr. Robot seemed less agitated than usual, resting his chin on the table like a big nosy cat.

Everything was nice.

And then it wasn’t, naturally, because there was only one law of the universe Elliot knew to be true: good things never last for long.

Because there was a TV in the coffee shop, and it was 8:30 AM, and the local news started. And Tyrell, who just reached for his cup, dropped it, spilling hot black coffee all over the yellow floor.

Because...

“Last night, Terry Colby, the 57-years-old Chief Technology Officer of the international conglomerate E Corp, was found dead on the roof of the main building of the E Corp’s New York headquarters. The CTO was shot to death alongside with another E Corp employee, Scott Knowles, in what appears to be a double homicide. At the moment, E Corp representatives provide no further comments. NYPD is launching a full investigation.”


	7. Nothing Means Anything

Another day, another puzzle, and once again — the picture Elliot was stuck trying to recreate was his own mind.

After the incident at the coffee shop, Tyrell quickly excused himself and left for work. Elliot didn’t try to stop him; both of them needed the time to process the news and its implications.

So, the CTO of Evil Corp was dead. Shot to death, to be exact.

Tyrell had mentioned shutting off cameras to meet Elliot yesterday. Tyrell had an injury on his hand — a scratch, a bite? Did he own a gun? He could have. Did he kill his boss? Was it the “stupid shit” he confessed to doing last night? Was Elliot next?

No. Of course not. It was the paranoia whispering in his ear again.

Or was it Mr. Robot?

Come to think of it… Elliot didn’t remember much about yesterday. He remembered the morning, waking up and finding Johanna Wellick in his apartment. What next? He was talking to Mr. Robot about hacking her phone, and then… and then he was at Allsafe asking Lloyd if he wanted to get lunch.

Did he lose time? Did Mr. Robot take over? He remembered sitting at the staff meeting and looking through Johanna’s messages, only the memory was vague. He didn’t remember a single text, only the general gust of her conversation with Judge White. Did it mean he wasn’t himself at the time? Or, maybe, the memory was fake. It wouldn’t be the first time Mr. Robot messed with his perception of reality, planted ideas in his head or made him forget things.

If it wasn’t for Tyrell’s gun trinket dangling from his keychain, Elliot would have started questioning everything that happened during the last few days. It was too crazy to be real, wasn’t it? But the feeling of cool metal and its sharp edges scraping against the skin of his palm was real. And Tyrell was real. Elliot could smell a trace of his cologne that soaked into his own skin and clothes during the night.

It wasn’t normal. But it was real.

“Elliot?”

Oh. He scraped against the lock for so long as he stared at the keychain, Angela had to open the door of his own apartment for him. How weird was it to have someone else at the place he’d come to consider somewhat of his personal shell?

Angela rubbed her eyes sleepily; a T-shirt was hanging loosely on her shoulders, exposing one. She wasn’t wearing much else.

“God, Elliot, where have you been?” Angela finally looked at him. “You’ve been gone all night. We didn’t know what to think.”

It was 8:40 AM. Elliot still had the time to take a shower. After the night he had, he needed one.

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “I should have texted you.”

“Wait, Elliot,” blocking his way, Angela tried to grab him by the shoulder. “There’s something you should know--”

He slipped from Angela’s hands — it was his home, after all, not hers — and zipped past her, inside the apartment.

Shayla was in the kitchen.

Elliot saw her and almost tripped over his feet. She was sitting cross-legged on top of the table, drinking coffee from a mug with a picture of a kitten (Angela gave that one to Elliot a couple of years ago as a present. He didn’t use it once).

She was naked. Her hair was wet.

“Hi,” Shayla said as she grabbed a towel to cover up. It didn’t cover much, but Shayla didn’t seem to care.

For a moment, Elliot stared at her in confusion. He didn’t feel anything, not even embarrassment. It was just odd, seeing her like this. Like he stepped into the wrong room, even though this room was his.

He looked back to Angela who was still fumbling with the door.

“Oh,” he said. Angela’s face was red. Elliot didn’t want to ask. “Ok. I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m off to work. You should come with me. To the office, I mean.”

“Why?” Angela frowned. “I was actually about to call Gideon and--”

“Terry Colby is dead.”

Angela blinked.

“What?” she asked, at the same time as Shayla asked her own question.

“Who’s Terry Colby?”

The news was probably all over the net already.

“Google it,” Elliot said.

Then he went to the bathroom to shower.

 

 

When Mr. Robot hugged him from behind, naked, in the shower, Elliot almost screamed. It came out as a muffled yelp, as he managed to catch himself and clamp a hand over his mouth — he didn’t need his friends to come investigating the noise.

“What the hell are you doing, man?” Elliot whispered.

“Shh,” Mr. Robot whispered back. “You don’t want them to hear us, do you?”

“Since when do you care?”

“Since you do.” Mr. Robot poured shampoo over Elliot’s head and started washing his hair. As weird as it was — and it was _fucking weird_ — Elliot closed his eyes and let it happen. “We need to talk, son. There’s something I haven’t told you.”

“No shit.”

“It’s not what you think. We didn’t kill anyone.”

Elliot didn’t think he did. He didn’t own a gun, for starters, and Mr. Robot was mostly harmless anyway — all talk and no bite. For all his bluster, he was no murderer. Was he? What if it was an accident or an act of self-defence? What if…

“I took over yesterday. And the day before. And a few other times. Several, in fact. Maybe a dozen or two. Over the course of three years, I’d say it’s not too often, is it? Sorry, kiddo. You know how it is.”

Elliot figured as much.

“What did you do?”

“Remember the arcade? Yeah, we set it up with Darlene. We hang out there sometimes. She thinks I’m you, by the way.”

“She’s in the city,” Elliot remembered suddenly. “Angela said she ran into her.”

“I told her about the restraining order.”

“What?” Elliot opened his eyes. “Why? When?”

Mr. Robot rinsed his hair, directing the water right in Elliot’s face. Some got into his mouth, and Elliot started coughing.

“Sorry about that,” Mr. Robot said.

“You didn’t answer my question…” Elliot croaked through another fit of coughing.

“You know the damn answer!” Mr. Robot shouted suddenly. He slammed his fist into the wall, droplets of water hitting Elliot in a splash. “You wanted that fucking restraining order gone, but you refused to do anything about it!”

Elliot gasped.

“That day in the arcade. When I got home, it was past midnight, but Tyrell left at seven…” How come he was just realizing this? It should have been obvious. Only it wasn’t, because he was too busy pining after Tyrell to pay attention, he was trapped inside his own world where time didn’t exist. “You took over. In the arcade, you took over.”

“I’ve just told you that,” Mr. Robot scoffed. “Are you even listening to me?”

Fuck.

“Did Darlene come over? To the arcade?” he grabbed Mr. Robot by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall. “What exactly did you tell her?”

Mr. Robot grinned, that weirdo.

“Everything, more or less. Not in details, don’t worry. I don’t think she’s into that kind of stuff, and I’d rather we don’t find out. Unless you want to try? Could be fun, or we could get decked. But I’m game if you are. Dealer’s choice.”

Realizing how close they were to each other, where and in what state, made Elliot cringe in disgust and take a step back. He felt sick.

“What is wrong with you, man?” he whispered.

Mr. Robot just laughed.

Elliot got out of the shower and belatedly realized he had no towel. Dripping water all over the floor, he waddled over to the sink and used paper towels to dry himself off at least a little bit.

Mr. Robot sat down on the edge of the bathtub. Naturally, he didn’t need a towel; his dirty outfit didn’t get wet from the water, or cleaner from the soap. Because he wasn’t real, and he didn’t change one bit regardless of his surroundings.

“What was your plan?” Elliot asked. “What did you tell Darlene to do?”

“I didn’t tell her to do anything. Come on, son, you know her as well as I do… nobody can _make_ that girl do anything. Not even us.”

“Why did she talk to the judge?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m your imaginary friend, not hers. I don’t know what goes through her head. Maybe she thought she could talk some sense into that Rose White. Maybe she wanted to scare her. Hell, maybe she thought the chick was hot and wanted to get under her skirt, I dunno.”

Elliot shook his head.

“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked. “You’re not giving me any answers.”

“You keep asking the wrong questions!” Mr. Robot jumped up, agitated again. “This isn’t about the judge, or Darlene! They had nothing to do with what happened.”

“But _you_ did?”

Frozen to the floor, Elliot swallowed. His heart skipped a beat as he watched Mr. Robot squirm until he finally sighed.

“I was doing you a favor.”

No. No, this can’t possibly be right.

“I don’t even have a gun,” Elliot said.

“No,” Mr. Robot nodded in agreement. “We didn’t kill anyone, relax. Or, well, we didn’t pull the trigger. What we did — what I did — was…”

A sudden knock at the bathroom door interrupted him. Elliot’s eyes darted to the door only for a moment, but when he glanced back to Mr. Robot — there was no one there. Mr. Robot was gone.

Fuck.

“Elliot,” Angela called from the other side of the door. “It’s 9 AM. If you want to get to work, we’re better get going.”

Yes, work. They had to show up if they want to keep their jobs. Evil Corp was Allsafe’s main client, so the death of its CTO must have caused somewhat of a conundrum. Gideon was probably shaken up, if not outright scared. Who could tell what the new CTO would be like? Would they honor the contract Colby just barely signed to continue working with Allsafe — or, like Tyrell had mentioned last month, would they form a team to handle everything internally?

There were too many variables. He needed to solve this puzzle, and quickly, before anxiety overclocked his brain into overdrive.

 

* * *

 

The meeting room wasn’t full of people as Tyrell had expected. Instead, there were only two people present: Phillip Price himself, and Susan Jacobs — the General Counsel, or, as they called her, Madame Executioner.

Why did they need their best attorney for this?

“Good morning, Mr. Wellick,” Mr. Price nodded at him as soon as Tyrell entered the room. He didn’t offer his hand for a handshake; instead, he pointed at one of the chairs. “Please, sit down.”

Tyrell swallowed his pride and went to sit where he was told.

“Is it true?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Terry and Scott are…”

“Dead. Yes, yes,” Mr. Price waved a dismissive hand. “Save your condolences for the public speeches. We’re naming you the interim CTO until the board decides what to do next. We do not need another scandal.”

“How is this a scandal?” Susan asked. “A tragedy, sure, but I don’t see how it damages our reputation.”

Mr. Price smiled. It always unnerved Tyrell how he smiled when most people would have frowned, as if he found discord delightful. A few years ago, Tyrell used to envy the ease with which Mr. Price wore his mask of composure; nowadays, he suspected it was no mask at all. It was a scary thought: to think that Tyrell was striving to be _this_ , that one day he might end up the same: perfectly composed, heartless and polite, not even cruel — just indifferent. That, one day, his own mask would stop being a mask, and how would he be able to stop wearing it then?

Elliot would have hated that man if they ever met, Tyrell realized with sudden clarity.

“There are two possibilities here, Ms. Jacobs,” Mr. Price said. “An intruder, or an inside job. Considering the surveillance tapes are missing, I’m inclined to believe the latter.”

Tyrell froze.

“The surveillance tapes are missing?”

“Yes. Someone set the monitors to replay the same hour of footage on the loop.”

Oh, god. It was him. He did it to meet Elliot in secret, and then he forgot to turn it off because he was otherwise preoccupied.

“Are we sure the incidents are related?” Tyrell asked quietly.

“I don’t care,” Mr. Price stated bluntly, not batting an eyelid. “What we need right now is damage control. This information cannot go public. We don’t need people to start doubting our security.”

“If we cannot keep our very headquarters safe, what kind of security do we have,” Susan voiced the unspoken implication, and frowned. “I see. I’ll work with the police to keep the investigation under the wraps.”

“Good.” Mr. Price paused and looked at Tyrell again. “An emergency board meeting is set on the 9th of May. You will be informed of our decision. In the meantime, I expect the workflow to continue as normal. No delays.”

“Should someone address the teams?” Tyrell asked. “Say a few words, explain things…”

“The HR will handle that,” Mr. Price said. “I expect nothing from you, Mr. Wellick, other than maintaining the schedule. Is that clear?”

Tyrell forced himself to smile.

“Yes, sir,” he took a breath and forced another — hopefully charming — smile out of himself. “I can assure you, everything will run smoothly. I will personally handle any issue that might arise, if I have to. You can count on me.”

Mr. Price looked at him with a strange expression, reminiscing of both amusement and pity.

“We’ll see,” he said. “You can go, Mr. Wellick. We have a few more things to discuss with Ms. Jacobs.”

“Are you sure?” Tyrell asked with a sudden lump in his throat. He was dismissed. They didn’t want him here, they didn’t trust him. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“You can do your job.” Mr. Price didn’t frown, not quite, but his eyes were dark and unforgiving when he scalded Tyrell with his gaze. In this moment, for some reason, he reminded Tyrell of Johanna, even though the two couldn’t possibly be any less alike, and all of a sudden Tyrell felt very small. “That would be enough.”

“Yes, sir,” Tyrell said.

It was all he could ever say with these people, wasn’t it.

“Oh, and Wellick?” Susan Jacobs called after him when he got up to leave. “Police or paparazzi start harassing you, send them to me. No comment until we release an official statement.”

Tyrell bared his teeth on what he hoped passed for a smile.

“Naturally,” he said. “Good luck dealing with all this.”

Susan smirked.

“I don't need luck, I have ammo.”

Tyrell raised an eyebrow at her peculiar choice of words, but Mr. Price seemed to find Susan’s remark amusing since he chuckled.

“Have a productive day, Mr. Wellick,” Mr. Price said next, which was just another way of saying _get the hell out._ “We all have a lot of work ahead, and we need results.”

“Yes, sir.”

God, he hated saying that.

 

* * *

 

Throughout the office, everything was buzzing.

Everyone at Allsafe knew their jobs depended on the Evil Corp contract, and the atmosphere was anxious, tense.

“They’ll be too busy dealing with the fallout to change contracts,” someone said.

“The contract is finalized anyway,” someone else replied.

“Their security was breached on our watch,” yet another someone chimed in. “There will be backlash, one way or another…”

Elliot tried not to listen, to ignore the chatter. Idle talk was not going to have any effect other than instigating more panic.

Too bad the real world was not as easy to disconnect from as the net.

“Hey… didn’t you go to their headquarters yesterday?” Lloyd asked as he leaned on the desk, inching closer to Elliot. “You were there all afternoon. Did you see anything?”

Elliot shrugged.

“I was in the server room,” he lied. “All I saw was their network.”

“I hear someone messed with their cameras. If it happened during the upgrade you were there to oversee…”

“What are you implying?”

Lloyd had the decency to avert his eyes.

“Nothing, man. It’s just, the upgrade was originally scheduled on Friday, but they requested it on Tuesday instead. That guy, Tyrell Wellick, asked about you specifically, and then…”

“He had nothing to do with this,” Elliot said.

“How do you know?”

Good question. He couldn't just say the two of them had been fucking all night long, could he? No. Tyrell had a restraining order against him. Shit, was the police going to question them? Would Tyrell need Elliot to confirm his alibi, admitting they had violated the order’s terms in the process? No, the hotel administrator would testify Tyrell had spent the night there. They had surveillance to confirm it — shit, Elliot would show on the tapes too, wouldn’t he. He had been careful, hiding his face by tucking on his hoodie, but what if it wasn’t enough? Would Tyrell lie under oath to protect him? Would Elliot have to tell the truth and sacrifice himself to protect Tyrell? Was either of them ready for something like that?

Too many questions, and not a single satisfying answer.

Finally, the chatter across the office got loud and desperate enough that Gideon stepped out of his office to address the situation.

“Everyone,” Gideon stood tall, drawing attention. He seemed calm, and even knowing he was probably faking it, Elliot felt a little easier looking at him. People gathered around. “What happened at E Corp last night was tragic. But the situation is under control. I’ve just got a call from their interim CTO assuring us nothing has changed. They will continue to work with us, and, in fact, they want a full report on the server upgrade we performed. You can all go back to your work.”

Just as everyone breathed out a hesitant sigh of relief, Gideon looked at Elliot.

“Elliot, I need you for a minute. Step inside my office, please.”

Shit. He had no choice, did he?

“Actually, Gideon,” Angela stepped out from the dissipating crowd. “Can I talk to you first? This is kind of urgent.”

Gideon raised his eyebrows and studied her for a moment, then nodded.

“Okay. I suppose it can wait. Elliot, see me after lunch. Angela,” he gestured for her to walk in first inside the office. She smiled at him briefly and followed through the open door.

Elliot took the chance to grab his backpack and get up.

“Where are you going?” Lloyd asked. What was it with him and all the questions today? Shit, after the lunch they had shared he probably assumed Elliot wanted to be friends. Not that Elliot didn’t, he liked Lloyd; it was the wrong time, though.

“Starbucks,” Elliot lied on the fly. “I have this headache… had a rough night. Gotta get my caffeine shot.”

“Since when did you start going to Starbucks?”

“Since just now. The coffee machine is out of pods. I guess with the Evil Corpse news on everyone’s mind, nobody remembered to restock.”

“Shit, really?” Lloyd blinked. “Wait, did you just say E _Corpse_?”

“Too soon?” Elliot choked out a smile.

Lloyd giggled.

“Nah, man, it’s cool. Their CTO was an arrogant pompous moron, anyway. Did you see how he leered at Angela and Olivia? A total dick. Not that I think the new one is gonna be better… All the corporate higher-ups are like that. Dickery comes with the job title, I guess.”

Elliot thought about Tyrell.

“The actual will to take is all a man needs to rob the world,” he muttered, paraphrasing from memory. Was Tyrell going to be picked as the new CTO? Was it going to change things between the two of them? Evil Corp didn’t need another scandal, and if Tyrell was going to leave his pregnant wife for a male lover… the world wasn’t kind enough to forgive something like this.

Elliot swallowed.

“Gotta go,” he said.

And, before Lloyd could say anything else, Elliot run off.

 

 

He didn’t go to Starbucks, naturally. He hated the overpriced sugary mess they passed for coffee, first of all, and he hated being surrounded by crowds.

He went to the subway station, got on a train, and soon enough ended up on Coney Island. He wasn’t in the mood for amusement park attractions, however, so he went to the beach and just sat there, right on the doughy sand.

He entertained the thought of summoning Mr. Robot. It was probably the right thing to do, talk to him and learn the truth. But… a part of him didn’t want to. Maybe, in part, because he knew the truth already: he was involved in the incident. He didn’t kill anyone, no, but… somehow, he was involved. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have shaken him up so badly.

There was no going back, was there? No way he could be normal again. Maybe there never was, because he was never normal.

He pulled out his phone and looked through the contact list; it was a short one. He didn’t have a lot of friends in the first place, and he memorized most phone numbers instantly anyway.

He wasn’t surprised to find a contact titled “D”. He knew he’d find it there, even if he never noticed it before. Because Mr. Robot didn’t let him notice, or because he never really looked, content in his isolation. Content to be miserable, because being in constant dull hollow pain was easier than risking an open wound, a sharp blast to the guts, reaching out only to be faced with indifference and rejection, crashing and burning.

But Darlene never rejected him.

“Hey,” she picked up only a few dial tones later. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. What’s up?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Elliot smiled against his better judgement. “It’s the end of the world.”

“And you’re calling to say goodbye to your little sister before we all go up in flames? Touching. Who would have guessed you’re so sentimental,” Darlene chuckled. “Seriously, Elliot, what’s wrong? You sound like you’ve swallowed a spoonful of snot.”

It was his turn to chuckle now.

“I’m at the beach. Not far from the arcade,” he said. “Where are you?”

“With my girlfriend. Duh. Didn’t I tell you I’d finally talked Dom into taking a vacation? We’re all packed for our Disneyland trip. Woo-hoo!”

“Oh.” So Darlene had a girlfriend now. And they were heading to Disneyland. How much did Elliot miss? How much did Mr. Robot keep from him? “Must have slipped my mind.”

Darlene sighed.

“Look, if this is about that judge lady again, I promised not to bother her anymore, okay? You said you could handle it, and I backed off, like you wanted. Or…” she paused. “Do you _want_ me to bother her?”

So Mr. Robot lied to him about not knowing of Darlene’s involvement with the judge. Well, at least he tried to talk her out of it.

“No. Forget about her.”

“Then what is it? Spit it out.”

Elliot looked at the waves slowly licking the shore, the seafoam chewing the wet sand, mixing itself with it. If he carried a shoeful of sand each day away from here, his whole lifetime wouldn’t be enough to change this beach in any meaningful way. The water, though, could change the landscape in a matter of minutes.

There was something both soothing and terrifying about that.

“I don’t know,” Elliot said. “I just… miss you, I guess.”

“We just saw each other the other day,” Darlene said gently, and Elliot didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. “Are things with Tyrell going that bad?”

“It’s not about him,” well, not only. “Angela broke up with Ollie. She’s quitting her job at Allsafe. I think I might quit, too.”

Darlene said nothing for a moment.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Why, though? I thought you loved it at Allsafe.”

“I hate it.” Elliot never allowed himself to say it out loud before. He needed to say it now. “I want to leave, Darlene.”

He wasn’t just talking about Allsafe, he realized at once the moment the words left his mouth, because Allsafe wasn’t the problem. Neither was Tyrell or Tyrell’s wife, or even Evil Corp. E Corp. Whatever.

Elliot’s problem was, had always been, himself.

“I need to go, I have an appointment,” he said to Darlene. She didn't need to hear all that. “Is it ok if I call you again later?”

“Of course,” Darlene said. “You can call me anytime.”

“Thanks.” Elliot said. “Have fun on your trip.”

Darlene laughed and told him she loved him.

He hung up.

 

 

He must have fallen asleep on the train he took to get back, because the picture in front of him couldn’t possibly be real.

He saw himself and Mr. Robot, side by side, sitting at a picnic table under a thick branching cork tree that looked like a hand, monstrous in size, reaching up from the ground towards the sky, a titan trapped down below, unable to be free due to its nature yet striving for freedom with every strained breath.

The sun was about to set. They were playing chess with Tyrell.

“Your move, Elliot,” Tyrell said.

Elliot looked at the chessboard, but all the pieces were the same shape and color, and the board was not a chess board at all — it was a mosaic made of charred black and creamy white popcorn kernels, and it looked like a QR code. He had no idea what the rules were, as the game looked more like an unfinished puzzle than chess.

“What are we playing for?” Elliot asked.

“To know each other,” Tyrell said. Contradictory to his earlier statement, he moved a chess piece. “I want to know you.”

“You’re cheating,” Mr. Robot said. His arm was draped over Elliot’s shoulders — protective but heavy, holding him back.

Tyrell smiled.

“Stop me.”

As he reached to move another piece, Mr. Robot grabbed Tyrell’s wrist.

“No,” Elliot said, and suddenly it was his hand holding Tyrell’s in its grip. The chess piece was still in Tyrell’s hand; he curled his fingers to form a fist, hiding the piece from Elliot.

“It can be yours if you ask for it,” Tyrell said. “Do you want it, Elliot?”

“What is it?” Elliot asked.

Tyrell opened his palm, but he wasn’t holding a chess piece anymore. He was holding a gun, offering it to Elliot.

“My father gave it to me as a child,” Tyrell said. “We were going to rob a bank so we could rob the world.”

Elliot took the gun. It was heavy and cold, and slippery for some reason. Before Elliot could process it, he noticed his hand was stained red; it was blood, he realized a moment later.

Tyrell was on his knees in front of him, guiding Elliot’s hand to point the gun at his head.

“Shoot me,” Tyrell said.

“No,” Elliot said.

He couldn’t move. Mr. Robot was sitting on top of the table now, eating popcorn from Elliot’s popcorn bowl.

“You should do it, son,” he said.

“You’re killing me, Elliot,” Tyrell said. There was a gaping wound in his forehead, bleeding red, even though there was no gunshot, Elliot never pulled the trigger. “Look what you’ve done. I only wanted to know you…”

It was getting hard to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Elliot whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

He repeated it over and over, but the words couldn’t fix anything. Tyrell fell back, and his body shattered into a million pieces of wine-colored glass.

“Ooh! Nice one,” Mr. Robot commented.

“Shut up,” Elliot gasped. “This isn’t real. This isn’t--”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I want to wake up!”

 

 

And just like that, he did.

Elliot opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the light. He was on the train, curled up in the corner of a seat, and something was poking him uncomfortably in the side… a stranger’s umbrella.

“That’s what you get for falling asleep on a subway train,” Mr. Robot snickered at him from the opposite seat. “At least you still have your backpack and your wallet… hey, don’t worry. If anyone tried to steal our shit, I would have decked them and wiped the floor with their sorry ass.”

Yeah, right. More like, they would have ended up being the one decked and beaten up.

Shaking off the nightmare, Elliot rubbed his face. Considering he had little to no sleep last night, it was no wonder he crashed, only now he felt even worse. Everything was aching, his head and his neck, and his eyes, and his muscles.

He probably looked like shit, too.

“What’s bothering you, son?” Mr. Robot got up and walked over to sit beside Elliot. He even put a hand on his knee. “Talk to me.”

“Here? No.”

People were starting to give him wary looks as it were. On the bright side, the umbrella guy moved away, so at least being crazy was good for something.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Mr. Robot asked.

“Dunno,” Elliot replied.

“What about Allsafe? We’re not going back there? Your boss is going to get suspicious.”

“Since when do you give a shit about that?”

“I give a shit about _you._ ” Mr. Robot frowned. “I’m worried about you, son. You’re not acting like yourself.”

Elliot shrugged.

“Maybe I don’t want to be myself.”

“What, you like me better?” Mr. Robot smirked. “I know, I’m a dream come true, but I can’t do all the work for you. I need you, kiddo, as much as you need me.”

The train came to a stop. As people rushed towards the exits, Elliot leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

“Do you ever wonder if they prefer one of us over the other?” Elliot asked.

“Who’s _they_?”

“Everyone. Darlene, Angela… Tyrell. If they knew the truth, would they still be there for us? Would they love me and hate you, or the other way around?”

Mr. Robot was silent for a few moments, and Elliot thought he went to sulk and hide again, but then Mr. Robot finally spoke.

“Do you hate me?”

“No,” Elliot said. “You’re a part of me.”

“Do you love me?”

“No. You’re not real.”

“Aw, that hurts,” but there was a smile in Mr. Robot’s tone. “Listen, Elliot, if you want me gone, if you truly wish for it… okay. I’ll go. I’ll leave you alone, and you won’t hear another word from me.”

“I don’t believe you. You left me ‘alone’ for three years, but you were working behind my back all that time. You set up that arcade, talked to Darlene… what else? Do I have a secret family I don’t know about, or something?”

“Well, there is the whole fight club setup which we really shouldn’t talk about--”

“I’m serious.”

Mr. Robot sighed.

“What do you want me to say, Elliot? That we’re stuck together forever, and sometimes I get bored watching you waste our life away? Well, we are, and I do. But I would never go along with anything truly against your will. Because I love you, son, and I’ll never hurt you the way _he_ did.”

“When he died, you mean.”

“Let’s not focus on the specifics.” Mr. Robot rubbed his thigh. “Come on. Get up, let’s go for a walk and get some air. We have plenty of time before that appointment with Krista.”

“Gideon might call.” Elliot said. “No signal on the subway. They can’t reach us here.”

“So turn off your phone, genius. Big deal. Come on, son, get up.”

Elliot opened his eyes and got up. The train was slowing down once again; as he walked towards the exit, it came to a full stop.

“I want to know what happened with Terry Colby,” Elliot said.

“I’ll tell you,” Mr. Robot took his hand and dragged him forward, to the station, and then up the stairs. “Anything you want to hear.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I did! I told you this morning, we didn’t kill anyone.”

They were out on the street, not far from Krista’s office; it was still early afternoon, however, so there was no point going there. Another familiar building was down the street: Ron’s Coffee. Remembering the itch that scratched his brain every time he stopped by, Elliot headed that way.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We have unfinished business there. And… keep talking.”

“You want me to keep talking? That’s a first,” Mr. Robot chuckled but followed Elliot obediently. Not that he had many choices. “Okay, so what happened that night is… well, it didn’t start that night. And, technically, it’s not our fault, because I certainly didn’t expect anyone to start shooting each other, but…”

“But?”

“We hacked them. All of them. Johanna, Anwar, Scott Knowles, Terry Colby, Sharon--”

And Elliot remembered everything.

 

* * *

 

Alone in his office, Tyrell stared at the screen. His inbox was open, and the top email was from Terry Colby.

“Someone trashed the bathroom on the mobile development floor. Did you take my advice to whip them into shape too literally? Send me a progress report tomorrow.”

It was so… normal. Just a casual email from his boss, nothing extraordinary.

Except, his boss was dead.

Tyrell didn’t like Colby. The man was rude and lazy, and so incompetent he — the CTO! — couldn’t tell the difference between Ubuntu and Debian; he groped his assistants, a fresh new pretty blonde every other month, and made unpleasant remarks about Tyrell’s assistant Elizabeth.

Still… for all his flaws, Colby was a _human_ person. He talked about his weekends, his ex-wife and his dog — sometimes Tyrell couldn't tell which because of Colby’s abhorrent habit to call them both the same name; still, as dirty as Colby’s soul was, at least he had one.

Scott Knowles, on the other hand… In a way, he was a younger version of Phillip Price. People like them, Knowles and Price, infallibly polite and untouchably cold, their personality, their humanity hidden behind layers and layers of armor… as much as Tyrell admired their professionalism, he hated it just as well.

Terry Colby treated Tyrell with affection. He promoted him to the position of his vice. They had lunches together. Colby even took Tyrell golfing a couple of times. And no, they weren’t friends, not exactly, but they were… amicable.

Tyrell didn't like him, but he didn’t hate him either, and it was more than he could say about most of his colleagues.

And now, Terry Colby was no more.

“Mr. Wellick?” Elizabeth, his assistant, poked around the door. “Your wife is on the phone.”

Oh… He forgot to put his smartphone on charger, didn’t he.

“Put her through.”

Elizabeth disappeared. A moment later, Tyrell’s desk phone went off.

Sure enough, it was Johanna.

“I’ve made up my mind,” she said instead of greeting him. “Have you?”

“I…” Tyrell took a deep breath. “Yes. I believe I have. When can we meet to discuss the details?”

“It won’t be necessary.” Johanna paused. Her next words hit Tyrell, heavy and sharp like a guillotine. “I’m going back to Denmark.”

Tyrell blinked.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not sure I have,” he shook his head in disbelief. “Johanna, you can’t be serious. Denmark? In your condition…”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “You don’t get to talk to me about my body.”

“But our child--”

“--has a better future there. Free health care, paid maternity leave, accessible education — we’re going to need that. Plus, I’ll have my family to help out.”

“You can’t do this, he’s my son!”

“ _Our_ son. And yes, I can, and I will. He is going to be a human being, Tyrell, not your personal vanity project.” She sighed. “I’m not doing this to spite you. I am doing this for him. I don’t want my child to grow up in a country where gun-wielding maniacs shoot up schools and workplaces. I came to this country to escape bad memories, not create even worse ones.”

Tyrell frowned.

“Bad memories? What are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter now. I made a mistake, and I’m fixing it. You do what you want, but you will not stop me from securing a future for my son. And don’t even try arguing for joint custody. I will _bury_ you.”

“Johanna--”

“Don’t tell me to be reasonable. I am very reasonable. I’m not asking for money or anything else. You will get full visitation rights. But I am not staying in this country. My child and I are going home, to Denmark.”

Tyrell didn’t know what to say, couldn’t force a single word out.

“I have already filed for divorce. You’ll find the papers on the kitchen table. Sign them. Judge White promised to make the process as quick as possible. Oh, and I’ll be staying with a friend in the meantime, so you’re free to come back to our place. It’s all yours now. Sutherland will pack my things and bring them over.”

“I’ll fire him.”

“So I’ll hire him.”

Tyrell grunted in frustration through gritted teeth. There was no way out. And, the worst part of it all, Johanna wasn’t wrong. She made perfect sense, as usual; she thought of everything.

“You thought of everything.”

“Someone has to.” Johanna didn’t scoff, not quite, but Tyrell heard contempt in her voice. He bit his tongue to avoid losing it and yelling at her — it would have been of no use. “If you have any further questions, you can relay them to me through Sutherland. I don’t want to see you for a while. I’ll contact you when, or if, that changes. Goodbye, Tyrell.”

 _“Vi ses igen,”_ Tyrell promised. They had to see each other again, if only to say goodbye properly.

 _“Hvis vi skal,”_ Johanna said, and repeated, _“Farvel, Tyrell.”_

“Name him Elias,” Tyrell asked.

But Johanna already hung up.

 

* * *

 

Elliot was sitting on the sofa at Krista’s office. It was 6:45 PM, he’d been five minutes late, and another ten they were sitting mostly in silence. Krista tried to engage with him, but Elliot really didn’t know what to tell her, or how.

“Elliot,” Krista still tried. She was always patient with her patients; another reason Elliot liked her. “What are you thinking about right now?”

They’d moved on from the questions about his shitty mood and what caused it, then. Good; Elliot couldn’t imagine telling Krista everything Mr. Robot told him. And he definitely wasn’t going to mention Mr. Robot — he wasn’t the real reason why everything went wrong, after all. Mr. Robot was a symptom, not the cause.

He wasn’t going to tell Krista he hacked a whole lot of people to dig through their nasty secrets, including the CTO of a major conglomerate and a random coffee shop owner who liked BDSM stuff, choke collars and whips and men in leather and ultimately didn’t do anything illegal.

Elliot, however, did. Him, his actions — they hurt people.

“There was a guy back in college,” Elliot finally thought of something to say. “Vera, Fernando. Tall. Bleached his hair. Had this… white tank top, jeans… tattoos all over. He smoked. Weed. We smoked together sometimes. Did other things, too.”

A moment of silence, and Krista nodded in acknowledgement.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“Got expelled, I think. Never saw him again.”

“What made you think about him today, specifically?”

“Dunno. I didn’t really like him. I don’t think he liked me either. We weren’t friends. We just…” Elliot trailed off with a shrug.

Krista looked at him, expectant.

“I was lonely, and I made a mistake,” Elliot explained. “And… recently, I’ve met someone.”

“Are you wondering if you’re making another mistake with this new acquaintance?”

Elliot made a noncommittal gesture.

“What makes you think that?”

“Lots of things.” Elliot paused. “His wife is pregnant.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Krista’s face remained the perfectly composed mix of neutral and friendly; professional, as always. Paying attention in exchange for a monetary payment.

“No, I guess not,” Elliot said. “It’s good.”

“So what troubles you?”

The fact that his alter-ego set up a gunfight to play some twisted, cruel game with the man he dared to like. The fact that he ruined several lives in one night.

The fact that he didn’t feel any particular remorse.

“I lied. Fernando Vera wasn’t expelled.” Elliot studied his hands folded on his lap. “He was supposed to major in biology. He knew how to make it… efficient.”

“Make what efficient?”

“It,” with his index and middle finger pressed together, Elliot trailed a line along the inner side of his forearm. “That. This. He did it. His brother told me all the details. He said he filled the sink with ice and held it there, his forearm. To numb the feeling. And the bath was hot. To increase the blood flow or whatever. Two different blades, one on the floor, the other in his hand. They said he dropped the first one because his hands were shaking so badly.”

Krista frowned.

“Elliot, are you talking about--”

“Suicide,” Elliot cringed at the word. He didn’t like it. “Yes, I knew a boy who died. Yes, he killed himself. And yes, he was obsessed with me and he called it love, even though it wasn’t. It really wasn’t.”

His therapist was quiet for a moment.

“You never told me about that before.”

Elliot shrugged.

“It’s not something I want to think about, or talk. I mean, what’s the point? People die. The ones who live carry their ghosts around until they die, too. You know, if you watch someone die, it stays with you. It’s not even the blood, or the convulsions, or their last breath… you don’t recognize it as the last one, you know, at first? You hear their labored breathing, and you breathe with them, steady, another gasp, just one more — and then you take a breath, you inhale and exhale, and inhale again, and they don’t. He’s there, right in front of you, but it isn’t him. Not anymore. Everything just… shifts. This person — your person — they no longer exist. This strong, brave, kind man who made plans with you and told you jokes, bought you birthday presents even when you said you didn’t need them, who forgave you and accepted you… He was there, indestructible, the only one you could talk to, the only one you could trust. The only one who asked how you felt, every day, even when you lied to him you’re fine. And you can’t imagine half the hardships he’s been through, but he never stopped smiling for you. And you always thought, there’ll be another time. One more day, one more week, one more year. Not now, not yet. Another moment, another breath, just one more… but there’s none. In death, he’s rendered helpless, just like any other man. He’s not himself anymore. And you cannot help him either. He doesn’t feel you holding his hand, doesn’t hear you calling for him. He’s just… gone. Forever.”

Elliot didn’t notice when he started crying, but his vision was blurry and his face was wet. He wiped it quickly. Fucking memories. He almost wished he forgot it all.

“Were you there when your father died?” Krista asked quietly. She understood it wasn’t about Vera; of course she did. It was her job.

“It doesn’t matter,” Elliot said. “It happened years ago.”

He knew: if he kept talking, kept remembering that cursed day, he would have fallen apart. Tears were unpleasant, but it wasn’t crying in front of his therapist that Elliot was worried about.

“Hey,” standing behind him, Mr. Robot put his hands on Elliot’s shoulders. Allowing that small gesture of comfort, Elliot closed his eyes. “It’s okay, son. I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

“Everyone who gets close to me ends up getting hurt. Because of me,” Elliot said. “I am the problem.”

“Elliot--”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine,” he interrupted Krista. He didn’t need her to think he was going to hurt himself. Because he wasn’t. Mr. Robot wouldn’t let him if he tried. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“I’m not sure I believe you. The way you describe what happened to your college acquaintance, it sounds like an ideation.”

Elliot opened his eyes and straightened up.

“My colleague was shot last night,” he said. “That’s why I remembered this. I was sad. But I’m not anymore. The world moves on, and so do I. All the people who die are forgotten about, eventually. I think it’s peaceful. To finally find oblivion. What good is it, carrying a ghost around? I have to let go.”

Krista shifted in her seat; she seemed to relax a little. Elliot noticed her sigh of relief, however small.

“A wholesome attitude, in theory,” Krista said. “But there is nothing wrong with needing time to process loss, Elliot. There is nothing shameful in grief. Sometimes, you have to allow yourself to feel bad, to feel good again. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Elliot looked away again. “I think I’ll quit my job. I don’t like it there, being constantly reminded of… things I don’t want to think about. It’s not good for me.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Dunno. I don’t have a plan yet.” Elliot smirked at the sudden thought. “Maybe I’ll take him up on that job offer and start working for E Corp.”

Krista smiled.

“Your eyes light up when you mention ‘him’. Do you want to tell me about that person?”

“I already have. He’s the guy I met a couple of months ago. The one with the wife. They’re getting a divorce, I think… Maybe not. He wouldn’t want to damage his reputation. Not now. Then again, maybe he doesn’t care. Or, maybe _she_ doesn’t care, about him or his reputation. She has other people. He doesn’t have anyone… just me.”

It was a strange realization, to think that Elliot had more friends than Tyrell did. Elliot had Angela, and Shayla, and Darlene, and Lloyd, and Gideon; even Mr. Robot, for what that’s worth. Tyrell… when Elliot hacked his email account, he saw no personal messages from anyone but Johanna. Business meetings, corporate party invitations — yes, plenty; they all were company-related, though. Nothing from Tyrell’s family back in Sweden, not a word from high school or college friends, nobody asking a simple “how are you holding up, man?” — something Elliot almost took for granted, because he had Angela.

Tyrell had no angel on his shoulder, only a corporate chip.

“I don’t know if it works out, or how. I don’t know if we can make it work,” Elliot frowned. “I want to try, though. I think.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

Elliot nodded.

“I need to discuss it with him first,” he said. Then he looked at Krista. “Thank you. For seeing me. I feel… better.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Krista smiled again. “You’re making good progress, Elliot. Talking to people, taking opportunities. I’m proud of you.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead, he stood up from the sofa and picked up his backpack.

“Elliot,” Krista called him.

He paused.

“See you on Sunday for our next appointment?” she looked at him expectantly, evaluating him.

“Yes,” he said, then repeated, ”thank you.”

 

 

It was past 7 PM when Elliot left Krista’s office, and it was already dark outside.

Walking down the street to the subway station, Elliot wondered if he should take the risk of calling Tyrell. He wanted to, but he didn’t have the burner phone anymore, and it was too late to get a new one now.

“We could go to the hotel he’s staying at,” Mr. Robot suggested. “That could be fun.”

“No,” Elliot said. “They have cameras. It’s too risky.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

“No,” Elliot repeated.

Then he went home.

 

 

Angela was there, sitting on his couch cross-legged and cozy in a plaid shirt Elliot could swear he had seen Shayla wear before. There was a bowl of popcorn on Angela’s lap, even though she wasn’t watching anything; she stared at the ceiling as she ate slowly, taking each one popcorn piece between her thumb and index finger, bringing it to her lips carefully like it was covered in sticky grease even though it wasn’t, and swallowing it with a grimace.

Come to think about it, Angela never liked popcorn much.

“Hey,” Elliot dropped his backpack on its usual place by the desk.

“Hey,” Angela replied. “Where have you been? Gideon was looking for you.”

Elliot shrugged.

“Didn’t you quit?”

“I filed a letter of resignation,” Angela said. “I still have to finish this week, though.”

“Oh.” he paused. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ll manage,” Angela smiled. “By the way, since popcorn was the only edible thing I found in your kitchen drawers, I decided to order a pizza. It should be there in… about twenty minutes. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t really care. I’m not hungry.”

Her smile faltered.

“Elliot. When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” he lied. It was better than admitting he couldn’t remember. Wait, he did remember — the soup Angela had brought him two days ago. He had coffee with Tyrell this morning though, full milk and heavy cream, so it wasn’t a big deal. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I just had to leave… to take care of this, um, thing. An appointment… with Krista.”

“Your psychiatrist?”

“Yeah. I needed to see her… after the whole E Corp shooting thing.”

Angela nodded in understanding. Before she could say anything, however, someone knocked at the door.

“Must be that pizza,” Angela muttered.

She set the popcorn bowl aside on the desk, and got up. Elliot was considering whether or not he should turn the computer on, or take a shower instead, when Angela who went to open the door gasped.

“What are you doing here?”

Elliot turned around, and sure enough — there was Tyrell Wellick on his doorstep.

“Hello,” Tyrell frowned at Angela. “You must be… Angela, right?”

“Yes,” Angela frowned, too. “Are you supposed to be here? I thought you had a court order--”

“It turned out to be fake,” Elliot interjected, walking up to them. “Just a prank. Don’t tell anyone, we’re still trying to figure out who did it.”

“Elliot,” Tyrell smiled at him, then turned to Angela. “Yes, this is exactly what we’re working on. I don’t appreciate being pranked in general, and in the light of recent events it’s a matter of security. We must establish if there is a connection. It wouldn’t do for E Corp to lose all their CTO candidates at once, would it?”

Angela pursed her lips, probably not buying their bullshit of a lie. But then she shrugged.

“Okay,” she said. “Should I leave you two to it?”

“No, it’s fine,” Elliot said. “You can stay. We’re not working from here, he’s just here to pick me up.”

“In person?” Angela’s eyebrows shot up.

“It’s late,” Elliot said.

“Not many people are willing to work overtime,” Tyrell added.

She looked at them, and immediately Elliot realized she didn’t believe them for a second. Still, she pretended she did.

“Okay,” she even put on a smile. Or, maybe, she was grinning because she was secretly laughing at them. Or, maybe, Elliot was just paranoid. It happened sometimes, him imagining things that weren’t there. “I won’t wait up for you, then.”

“Wise choice,” Tyrell nodded.

Elliot went to put on his backpack.

“Love luck,” Angela said as he passed her on his way back to the door.

Elliot froze.

“What did you just say?”

“Good luck,” Angela repeated, now sounding a little confused. “You know, with your… establishing connection thing.”

Elliot shot a glance at Tyrell, but he seemed unaffected. Maybe it was just Elliot’s mind playing tricks on him.

He nodded at Angela.

“Thanks.”

And, before his mind came up with more tricks, he hurried outside.

 

 

“Why did you really come?” Elliot asked once they were in Tyrell’s car.

Tyrell was uncharacteristically quiet the whole time; at first Elliot assumed he didn’t want to talk out in the open on the street where anyone could see them, but now they were alone, and still Tyrell hadn’t said a word.

His hands were no longer bandaged, just covered in band-aids. Also, he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.

“I’m starving,” Tyrell said suddenly. “There’s a barbeque joint nearby, they’re open 24/7. Let’s go there.”

“That’s it? You want to have dinner with me?”

“Is that not enough?”

Tyrell looked at him. Elliot sighed.

“If I get arrested, I hope you’re bailing me,” he said.

“Nobody is going to arrest you,” Tyrell said. “They’ll have no proof. I don’t even carry that stupid paper around with me.”

“There are always court records…”

“Which they’ll have to look up if they have probable cause. As long as we behave, we’re safe. Relax, babe,” Tyrell smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” Elliot said. “Don’t call me babe.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not your wife.”

“She didn’t like it either.”

“Why are you telling this to me?”

Tyrell chuckled.

“You’re in a cranky mood tonight,” he said as he started the car. “Is this about the morning? I’m sorry I had to leave in such a hurry, but you have to understand… the circumstances were extraordinary.”

“It’s not that,” Elliot said. “I’m not going to chew your ear off over every little thing.”

“Perhaps, I wouldn’t mind,” Tyrell teased him with a playful grin.

Elliot shook his head.

“Drive,” he said.

 

 

Finally, they were there, the place of Tyrell’s choosing. Elliot half-heartedly expected something fancy, but no — the aforementioned BBQ joint called “Red Wheelbarrow” was as normal as those kind of places could be. A neon sign blinking red and yellow, checkered floors, cashiers wearing red uniforms with funny hats.

“Here’s your punchcard,” the cashier chirped in a cheerful voice despite the late hour. “Collect ten stamps, and you’ll get a free milkshake on your next visit!”

“Thank you,” Tyrell said politely as he grabbed the tray with their order.

They sat down at the table in the corner.

“Free milkshake, huh? I didn’t realize you were into this sort of things,” Elliot commented.

“What, do you think I’ve always been an interim CTO of an international conglomerate?” Tyrell raised his eyebrows. “When we first met, I told you, I started at the bottom. I came to this country as a student. I had nothing. Everything I have now, I have worked for. I earned this.”

“I never said you didn’t.” Elliot shrugged. “Wait, they appointed you the interim CTO?”

Oddly enough, Tyrell sighed as if mentioning the subject brought him no joy.

“It’s temporary, as the title suggests,” he said. “They need someone to do the job until they organize a board meeting. Honestly, I doubt I’ll be able to hold the position.”

“You? Doubting yourself?” now it was Elliot’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Tyrell laughed.

“I’m flattered by your faith in me, but I don’t think you understand the difference between someone like Terry Colby or Phillip Price and someone like me. They are… nobility. They were born into wealth, it’s in their blood. People like you and me, no matter how smart and resourceful, we’ll always be bottom-feeders for them. Prey animals who jump through the hoops to earn the apex predator’s approval. I thought I could escape this fate, blend in, but… I don’t think I can, after all.”

Elliot frowned.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tyrell said. “That’s just it, isn’t it? No one looks up to me for guidance. All they see is a monkey in a suit, trained to dance on command… Terry is dead, and nothing has changed. His assistant was packing his things, as if he simply retired and wasn’t shot to death on the roof of our office. The police officers sit in the lobby drinking cappuccinos and laughing at each other’s jokes. Our developers are working on the new product, marketing sends another request, finances are complaining about the last upgrade, and Phillip’s assistant hit on me because I stopped wearing my wedding ring. And nobody cares about two dead men, as they wouldn’t care about me if I was dead. Each and every one of us, our existence is functional. Mechanical. If I lay down my life for this company, like Terry or Scott, nobody would so much as blink.”

“I’d blink,” Elliot said quietly.

Tyrell looked at him. Then he reached out and took Elliot’s hand, and Elliot allowed it.

“I love you,” Tyrell said.

“I know,” Elliot replied.

“I love you too,” Mr. Robot added. Elliot allowed that, as well, although he couldn’t tell if Mr. Robot was talking to him or Tyrell, or both. Probably both.

Tyrell leaned in to kiss him, but Elliot held him back.

“I need to tell you something,” Elliot said. “Can we drive to the arcade? The one where we talked the other day.”

“Talked,” Tyrell repeated with his eyebrows raised.

“It’s what you call it,” Elliot shrugged. “Besides, we talked too.”

Once again, Tyrell laughed.

“As you wish.”

 

* * *

 

Elliot was quiet during the ride, and Tyrell started to worry. His own terrible mood improved quite a bit after he sneaked a kiss from Elliot in the car, so he tried to make Elliot feel better too. _Tried_ was the keyword; at best, Tyrell’s efforts at making light conversation earned him a weary half-smile, at worst — a frown.

He loved Elliot anyway, his moody attitude included.

The arcade was hard to find, lost among similar derelict buildings, but Elliot guided Tyrell with impeccable clarity — he must have visited the place often, god knows why. He didn’t strike Tyrell as an avid gamer or bowler.

Finally, they were there. As soon as they got out of the car, Elliot headed towards the building; Tyrell hurried up after him.

“What are we looking for?” he asked once they were inside.

It was dark, and Elliot turned on the lights. The electricity blinked before shing an array of colorful lights above and around them, accompanied by a low hum.

“Nothing,” Elliot said. He looked at Tyrell briefly before turning away. “We’re here to talk.”

“Talk, or _talk_?”

“Up to you, I suppose. After you hear what I have to say, you can decide what to do with it. It’s okay if you don’t want me anymore. I won’t blame you.”

A chill crept down Tyrell’s spine, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“What is this about?”

“Last night.” Elliot paused to take a breath, then looked Tyrell in the eyes. “It’s my fault. I’m responsible.”

Tyrell blinked, then blinked again. It didn’t help clarify things in the least. What was Elliot saying? Nonsense. They had spent last night together. Most of it, anyway. And before that, Elliot was home — they’d met less than a block away from his apartment, there was no way Elliot could get there in time from E Corp headquarters.

No, it was impossible.

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Tyrell said. “Unless you possess an ability to be in multiple places simultaneously, of course, in which case you need to tell me how you’ve got it so we could be superheroes together.”

“I am no hero,” Elliot shook his head. “And no, I didn’t shoot them. But I might as well have.”

“Elliot, there’s a huge difference between ‘did’ and ‘might as well’. In the eyes of the law, and my eyes. I mean, if you _did_ kill someone, I would help you hide the body and get away with it, naturally, but…”

“Naturally?” Elliot interrupted. Tyrell’s words seemed to shock him. “Naturally? _Naturally?_ What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Hiding bodies, getting away with murders — you think these things are okay?”

“No, they’re not,” keeping his voice calm, Tyrell took a step towards Elliot. “But I love you, Elliot. No matter what happens, I’m here for you.”

Elliot was shaking. When Tyrell reached to put a hand on his shoulder, Elliot evaded his grasp and backed away, starting to pace.

“I hacked them,” he said abruptly. “Colby, Knowles, his wife, Anwar… all of them.”

“When?”

“I hacked your wife too, but it wasn’t enough,” Elliot continued as if he didn’t hear Tyrell’s question. He was talking quickly, stumbling through his words like a drunk man through a nightclub. “I had to make sure she was acting alone. I had to know. I had to check every lead. I had to.”

Deciding it’s best to let Elliot talk for now, Tyrell leaned on a nearby desk and listened.

“I started with Anwar,” Elliot spoke. “I thought he had nothing to do with this, but I had to prove it — to myself. To be certain. So we hacked him. He was innocent, but we found something else. He mentioned you to one of his friends. He said it was unfair that a moron like Scott Knowles was getting promoted over an actual professional like you. He said other things about you, too. He… really likes you, you know. He thinks you’re smart, and patient, and kind. He couldn’t shut up about how you treat your underlings with respect but fire bigots left and right. You’re practically his knight in shining armor.”

“Elliot, I assure you, I have never encouraged…”

“I’m not saying this because I’m jealous,” Elliot sounded displeased, though. “I don’t do jealousy. It’s demeaning, for everyone involved.”

Tyrell frowned.

“Okay, so where is this going?”

“The bit about _Scott Knowles getting promoted_ caught my eye,” Elliot started pacing again. “So I hacked him. I hacked Scott Knowles. He was bragging to his wife they were going to make him CTO after Terry Colby’s retirement.”

“Terry wasn’t supposed to retire for another three years.”

“No, he was going to retire this year. Health issues, some kind of autoimmune disease. He might not have had three years,” Elliot shrugged. “I hacked him. Everything checked out. For what it’s worth, he recommended you as his successor. It was your CEO who rejected your candidacy. He called you volatile, inexperienced, and unreliable.”

A flash of anger hit Tyrell like a whip, its lash a sweet line of pain across his chest. He clenched his jaw, his fists; deep breaths, he told himself. He knew it already, didn’t he? Phillip Price never liked him. He was Colby’s protégé… or pet.

“Phillip never liked me,” Tyrell said quietly. “So what? How does it all tie in to the last night’s incident?”

“Colby’s conversation with Price wasn’t the only thing I found,” Elliot said. “He had an affair with Sharon Knowles.”

“Scott’s wife? I thought she was pregnant.”

Elliot shrugged.

“Not from her husband. Yeah, I hacked her too.”

“ _Jävel…_ ” Tyrell shook his head. It was all a little too much to process at once. “Elliot… When did you do all this? It must have taken a lot of time. And… I’m not saying I don’t believe you — I do, but are you sure? Terry and Scott’s wife…”

“I still have access to his account. I can show you the pictures, if you want, the ones they’ve been exchanging.”

“God, no. I absolutely do not want to see that.” He already knew more about the sex life of his (dead) boss than he ever wanted to know. “So what you’re saying is, Scott’s wife is pregnant… from Terry Colby?”

“It’s what she told him. I don’t know if it’s true or not,” Elliot said. “It doesn’t matter. She told him, and he told her to get an abortion. She didn’t want to. They had a fight. They broke it off two months ago, and she told her husband the child was his. But she found someone else, too.”

Tyrell winced.

“How much more complicated is this going to get? How do you even--”

“Your wife, Johanna. They met at a clinic, I think, exchanged numbers. At least, that’s what I gathered. I don’t know all the details, they do more skyping and phone calls than messages, so it’s hard to say how far it goes. Maybe they’re just friends. But… maybe more.”

_“What?”_

To say Tyrell was surprised would have been an understatement. He gasped, choking for breath, suddenly overwhelmed; what the hell? Johanna and… Sharon Knowles. Scott’s wife. What the hell? Since when did Johanna like women? She never mentioned this to him, she never had a female lover, she never brought it up at all-- oh. She did mention a ‘high school girlfriend’ once. Did she mean… god, Tyrell felt so stupid now.

So, that _friend_ she’d mentioned she was staying at… was it Sharon Knowles?

“I think I’d like to see those pictures, after all,” Tyrell said. “Not Colby’s. Johanna’s.”

“She changed her password today,” Elliot said. “I didn’t crack it yet.”

“Sharon, then.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Elliot approached him and put a hand on his forearm, as if he wasn’t certain whether or not to take Tyrell’s hand. “You’re trembling.”

Tyrell shut his eyes. Taking deep breaths, he took Elliot’s hand and squeezed it, a little too hard perhaps, but Elliot didn’t make a sound.

“She’s leaving for Denmark,” Tyrell said. “I might never see her again.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “She’s carrying my child. Unless, of course, you drop another truth bomb saying Terry Colby fucked my wife and got her pregnant, or maybe Scott Knowles did, or maybe they all fucked each other — at once, in a row, I don’t fucking know anymore.”

“I didn’t find anything about that.”

Elliot’s hands were cool. Tyrell needed that. He guided Elliot’s hand up to his face so Elliot would touch his forehead; Tyrell’s head felt hot and heavy like a big boiling cauldron, and he needed Elliot to help him.

“I am so confused,” he uttered. “How did it all just… happen? When? God… You were right, Elliot. I was so busy looking up to you, I couldn’t see what was happening right under my nose.”

“I said that?” Elliot sounded doubtful.

Tyrell sighed.

“It doesn’t matter now, I suppose… Johanna and I are getting a divorce. Terry and Scott are dead…” something struck him, and Tyrell opened his eyes. “Wait, but you said it was your fault. Why? You hacked them, but you didn’t shoot them. Do you know who did?”

Elliot looked at him. A strange, determined look.

“I can guess,” he said. “Obviously, I wasn’t there. But… I know who was. I know, because I sent them there.”

 

* * *

 

Elliot held Tyrell’s face in between his palms. Tyrell stared at him, unblinking.

“What?” Tyrell asked finally, after a long pause.

Elliot didn’t want to let him go, even though it was tiresome to hold Tyrell like that, what’s with Tyrell being taller and everything.

“I sent them there,” Elliot repeated. He forced himself to look Tyrell in the eyes, no matter how difficult it was. Mr. Robot clawed at the back of his skull, begging to take over, but Elliot refused. _Not now._ This was too important. “I arranged that meeting on the roof. I… I wanted to help you.”

“Help me?” Tyrell didn’t understand. “Elliot, what are you talking about? What did you do?”

Bracing himself, Elliot took a deep breath and spoke.

“I told him about the affair. Scott Knowles, his wife… I told her to come to the office after work. Said they needed to talk, that she knows what this is about. Then I messaged her husband from her account. I told him everything. The affair with Colby, that the child wasn’t his and she was planning to leave him. Then I messaged Terry Colby. I told him Scott Knowles found out about everything. They all agreed to meet on the roof.”

Tyrell’s eyes looked pale and watery in the spotlight of thick pineapple-yellow light pouring from above.

“I wanted them to have a quarrel,” Elliot continued. “I wanted a scandal. Their relationships were all broken anyway, they didn’t need me for that. I thought I was helping them, too, forcing them to be honest with each other. All I wanted was to expose the truth, maybe make your bosses see Scott Knowles as volatile and unreliable, everything they called you — I wanted to show them he’s worse. I wanted to humiliate him, force him to decline the promotion or quit… I just — I wanted to help. I never wanted anyone dead. I didn’t know about the gun. If I’d known, I would have never arranged a meeting like that.”

“If you arranged a meeting between the _three_ of them, what happened to Sharon Knowles?” Tyrell took Elliot’s wrists gently, his thumbs slowly rubbing circles over the inner side. “If she was there… either the shooter kidnapped her, or she _was_ the shooter.”

“I don’t know what happened and how it all went down. I wasn’t there.”

Tyrell nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Elliot repeated. “That’s all you can say, _okay?_ Two people are dead because of me, and the third one is missing. She could be dead, too. She could be on the run, bleeding out, she could have lost her baby— because of me—”

“No.”

Tyrell grabbed his shoulders suddenly, and Elliot froze. He was trembling, but under Tyrell’s firm gaze he felt the panic settle down slowly, his heartbeat no longer frantic, his stomach no longer in knots.

If Tyrell could make sense of it, maybe Elliot could too.

“Whatever happened on that roof, it wasn’t your fault,” Tyrell said. “If Sharon was considering leaving him, Scott would have found out sooner or later. And you’re absolutely right — he is… he was — not a kind man. He was possessive, aggressive, manipulative, and he had a habit of finding people’s soft spots and aiming there, getting under someone’s skin to watch them squirm. He was a cruel man, Elliot. I sincerely doubt he would have let his wife go in peace. If he attacked her, and she was forced to act in self-defense, it’s his fault. Or hers, for fucking his boss, for marrying him in the first place. But it’s definitely not your fault.”

“You sound like him. He always makes excuses for his shitty behavior,” Elliot sighed. “It’s never our fault, it’s the world around us that’s wrong.”

“Maybe the world _is_ wrong,” Tyrell said. “And who are you talking about? Another friend of yours?”

“My father,” Elliot said, because it was easier than explaining the whole Mr. Robot thing. “He used to say I was a good kid, that I deserved good things, even when I did something wrong. One time, I was nine or ten, I stole money from a customer, and my dad bought me popcorn and M&M’s, and he took me to see a movie instead of punishing me. He said the customer was an ass.”

Tyrell smiled.

“I like your father.”

“You would,” Elliot chuckled despite himself, imagining his father — his actual father, not fucking Mr. Robot — talking to Tyrell. He’d probably ask him stupid stuff like _‘what are your intentions’_ and _‘are you taking good care of my son’_ . That would have been embarrassing. Tyrell would have tried to charm him, and his dad wouldn’t buy it — he would have been making comments about Tyrell being _‘a very important businessman, eh Elliot?’_ — still, eventually, he would have warmed up to him. Wouldn’t he? “I guess we’ll never know.”

“Why? What happened to him?”

“Leukemia.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Neither of them knew what to say for a moment, and there was silence. Then, Tyrell suddenly spoke.

“I hated my father,” he said. “He was weak. Barely educated, but he thought the world of himself. Sometimes he would read a poem to me, and he’d be so proud of himself because it was in English. It was the only English he ever knew. Some silly poem, one sentence. Meaningless. Yet he treated us like dirt because, for him, that poem was a badge of honor. It distinguished him, and he rubbed it in my face. Sometimes, when I feel down, I recite that poem as a reminder — a reminder of him, of what I never want to become.”

“And what is that?” Elliot asked.

“An ignorant fool slaving away for scraps and taking out his frustration on people he was supposed to love.”

Elliot smiled, a bittersweet taste of half-truth in the air.

“Sounds like my mom,” he said. He didn’t bring up her other charming aspects, Tyrell didn’t need to know about those. It was an old story that no longer mattered. “I guess we’re both fucked up.”

“No,” Tyrell said. “You’re perfect.”

Then Tyrell kissed him.

 

 

That night, they fucked. There was no other word to describe the raw energy of the act, the vertigo-inducing power of attraction and desire that lit up in a moment, an explosion of lust. Nothing mattered much, except for the heat and the friction and the inevitable release, blinding like an operating system reboot, powerless death and electric revival.

 

 

Some time later, they were lying on the floor, just the two of them.

“Déjà vu…” Tyrell murmured softly. “You know, I think I’m starting to like this place.”

Happy in the afterglow, Elliot allowed himself a teasing smirk.

“Just now?”

“I didn’t think much about it the first time,” Tyrell explained. His fingers brushed against Elliot’s. “I had other things on my mind.”

“And now you don’t?”

“I should, I suppose…” Tyrell sighed. “I should ask you to call the police with an anonymous tip about Sharon Knowles. I should care about the CTO position, the fate of the company… my wife, my future, all kinds of things.”

“You should,” Elliot agreed. “Do you?”

“I’m a little worried about the possibly homicidal woman with a gun getting close to the woman carrying my child. But I’m not going to risk what you and I have because of that, not until the restraining order situation is resolved. I’ll call the police myself, tell them we’ve managed to restore some security footage… As long as you left no traces of your hacking, I’m confident we can pull it off.”

No, not even Mr. Robot was that sloppy.

“I’ve been careful.”

“Then it’s settled. I deal with the police, my lawyer deals with the judge. As for you…” Tyrell propped his head up with an elbow and looked at Elliot, the strangest expression on his face, warm and soft, a glint in his eyes. Was this what adoration looked like? Elliot didn’t know, but the idea evoked a pleasant sensation in him. He was _loved._ “I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ll handle whatever needs handling. You’ve been through enough.”

“Yeah… I have my own stuff to deal with.”

Elliot looked at the ceiling. Dark, ugly, with various wires hanging loose. If it wasn’t for strings and spots of lights, he would have felt nothing in particular; as it were, it felt like a cheap attempt to cover up the decay with shiny colors and tinfoil, and he hated it. Not just the arcade and its broken parts, no; his own tendency to slap a band-aid on a wound and call it healed, release a cosmetic patch fixing animation bugs instead of tackling real underlying issues, that’s what he hated the most.

He hated not knowing what to do to fix it. Fix himself, and everything else.

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” Elliot asked. “If we’ll ever have a normal life?”

“Do you want to?”

“Don’t you?”

Tyrell reached for him and caressed Elliot’s hip, then ran his hand up, towards his chest, until it stopped right over Elliot’s beating heart.

“I could hold the world in my hands, and it wouldn’t be enough without you,” Tyrell said. “This, right here, is what matters to me. Normal or not, I couldn’t care less.”

“Even if I am... not normal?”

“I never thought you were, _älskling_.”

Closing his eyes, Elliot leaned in for a kiss, and Tyrell kissed him back.

He didn’t solve everything the way he wanted to, and some questions he would never learn the answer to, but Elliot decided it was time to accept that. Despite the memories of the past, or their absence, haunting him, despite the nagging uncertainty of the future hanging above them like the sword of Damocles, Tyrell was willing to accept him, to fight alongside him for another day... another moment, another breath.

It was enough.


End file.
